World of Warcraft: The Seige of Uldaman
by Kerian Halcyon
Summary: Legend spoke of a great Titan City located in the Badlands, one that would unlock great secrets, but also holds hundreds of Troggs! The Alliance and the Horde must give aid to this catastrophe! Pre-Burning Crusade. Rated T for language and violence.
1. Prologue: Excavation

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**World of Warcraft**

The Siege of Uldaman

Prologue

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_Long ago, long before the world of Azeroth had become what it is now, before the might of the Burning Legion and the curse of the Undead Scourge, there were the Titans…_

_The Titans were a race of beings that were charged with a purpose: to shape worlds in their image and to ensure that life could swell within the worlds' reaches. As such, they travelled to many worlds beyond the great dark, casting aside demons and imprisoning them within the Twisting Nether; a great arcane storm that connected different worlds together and provided power to the greater races…or corruption…_

_During this age of chaos, the Titans found the land of Azeroth. The land's elements were scattered about and destruction was hard at work. This was because the land was under the control of the Old Gods, monstrous creatures who were masters of Elementals and rulers of all that lay in their path. During this dark time, the Titans chose to eliminate the Old Gods, and imprisoned them deep within the lands of Azeroth._

_At this time, the Old Gods wished to create beings out of living stone to help them in their work. These became known as the Earthen, but it is believed that something went wrong. Due to the interference of the Old Gods, the first generation of Earthen, as well as much of the second generation, was locked away deep within gigantic Titan vaults, left to remain dormant for all time._

_It was from one of these vaults that the ancestors of the Dwarven race came forth into the mountains of Khaz Modan. Believed to be near the location of Ironforge, the Dwarves have always been considered masters of the earth, and their obsession over their ancestors and their creators knows no bounds. During the time when Azeroth was besieged by the Orcs, who were slaves of the Burning Legion at the time, the Dwarves were amongst the first races to answer the call for help from men, and provided siege engines and gunpowder for their allies._

_It has been many years since the Burning Legion had attempted to invade Azeroth. Now that the Dwarves have nothing else to do, they are hard at work once more seeking answers to their creation. They had turned up little facts about their origins, and the hope of finding answers was beginning to slip from their Dwarven grasp…_

…_until now._

_During the third war, a Dwarf by the name of Brann Bronzebeard, youngest brother of King Bronzebeard of Ironforge, had founded an expeditionary force called the Explorer's League. This League was given the task of finding answers to the Dwarves' creation, and had members from all across Azeroth. Rumor has it that the League even has members of the Horde on its side, as Brann Bronzebeard is a fellow who believes in second chances for the races under the Horde's rule._

_A section of the League had managed to uncover Titan ruins to the north of the region in the Eastern Kingdoms known as the Badlands. This mighty city seems to be teeming with Titan knowledge. Rumors circle about that this is the location of the fabled Discs of Norgannon, an artifact that holds information about the creation of the Earthen and, through it, the origins of the Dwarven race._

_However…runes in the entrance of the chamber reveal that a great evil sleeps in this place; one that knows no bounds. To make sure that they would remain safe, the Explorer's League sent an expedition force of several Men, Dwarves, and Gnomes into the Titan city, to further explore it and ensure that nothing evil sleeps in its halls…_

…_they have yet to return…_

* * *

Prospector Darian sighed, wiping sweat from his brow as he looked up from his work. An entire tablet of the wall in the entrance of the great Titan city had been completely cleared away thanks to his work; the sand and dust wiped away to reveal the beautiful picture carved upon the wall. It depicted a Titan father holding his two sons upon a throne, while the mother looks on from the smaller chair she sits upon in front of the father. The scene depicts creation and guardianship; how the Titans created life, and how they set their sires to guard their creations. Runes encircled the entire carving, providing useful information for the Explorer's League.

Darian looked proudly at the carving; glad that he had finally wiped away all the sand and dust that had kept it hidden for untold ages. He gazed upon its features to make sure that he didn't leave out any flaw, picked up his tools, and made his way back to his tent, where he would write his findings and quickly work on another wall.

Darian was an average-sized Dwarf. He had a standard brown beard, which he left untied and hung in knots on his shirt. One of his most notable characteristics was the fact that he had long, greasy hair, which he kept in a dwarven braid to keep out of his face. His mustache was thick like the rest of his hair, and he had big green eyes that were commented to be like green pools, always seeking to be filled with knowledge.

Prospector Darian had been working with the Explorer's League for years. He was a part of Muradin's expedition force to Northrend before he got sent back south due to health problems. He was amongst the first to discover the secret to Muradin's death, and his regret was that he didn't remain behind to save the Dwarf prince from his untimely end.

Ever since then, Darian had been working his way up into higher ranks in the Explorer's League. Now he had been given charge of an entire expeditionary force specifically focused upon the Eastern Kingdoms. Darian has managed to make several dig sights searching for Titan Ruins, but none of his discoveries were greater than that of Uldaman. Though Brann Bronzebeard was the one who discovered the entrance, it was Darian who discovered that it was a Titan city, and it was Darian who found the key to open the gates inside.

And it was he who sent the first expedition inside; an expedition which had yet to return.

Darian wrote down his findings in his prospector journal when there was a knock on his tent pole outside.

"Anybody home?"

Darian turned around to see a Dwarf with a big black beard leaning upon his tent post. Darian smiled as he looked upon the face of the Dwarf, and gave him a big hearty slap on the shoulder.

"Ryedol!" Darian said, "It's good to see ya, lad! What news of Hammertoe's Dig? You taking care of it like he asked?"

"The dig's doing fine, old friend," Ryedol said, "I came here to see if the fool's back yet. Any word from the expedition at all?"

Darian's smile faded, and his face looked rather grim. "There's been no word," Darian said, "Not in the last two weeks. I don't know what's wrong, lad. There doesn't seem to be hide nor hair of them anywhere that we can see, and due to the Dark Iron incident I've stopped asking messengers to go in to look for them. I don't want those b*stards catching us all unawares and stealing this dig for their fiery master."

Ryedol nodded in agreement. "The Dark Irons have been getting pushy these past few months," the Dwarf said, "Our scouts reported that their men have been heading north from their fortress in Angor a few days ago. We found it rather suspicious. Unless it was a raiding party heading north to Loch Modan, I fear that they could be trying to find this place.

Darian nodded, turning to a map on his table. The map was one of the Eastern Kingdoms, pointing out the different regions of the tremendous continents of Lordaeron and the Khaz Modan mountain range, as well as the Kingdom of Azeroth to the south. Darian glared hard at a single label that said, "Blackrock Mountain," which was the infamous home to the Dark Iron Dwarves and their Elemental commanders.

Blackrock Mountain had been the ancient home of the Dark Iron Dwarves for centuries. The land had been at one point green and good, but centuries of war and the summoning of the hideous monster, Ragnaros, the region south of Khaz Modan had become a wasteland called the Burning Steppes, and Blackrock Mountain was transformed into a volcano of massive wrath and destruction. Since that time, the Dark Iron Dwarves were slaves to the fire Elementals, and served Ragnaros with as much fanaticism as the Scarlet Crusade.

The Burning Steppes was home to more than just the Dark Irons. The monstrous Black Dragonflight had also taken residence there, fighting a continuous war with the Dark Irons for dominance for Blackrock Mountain and the Burning Steppes. The Alliance and the Horde both want the war between the two factions to drag on as long as possible, for whoever managed to win the fight would take the fight to the rest of the world as the dominant power in all of Azeroth. Until that day came, both the Alliance and the Horde were content to be just spectators in their fighting match.

"Those damn Dark Irons would be the death of us all," Darian commented as he stared at the map, "At the rate that we are discovering Uldaman, I'm afraid that they'll try something sooner or later."

"I'm even more afraid of those Black Dragons," Ryedol stated, "What if one of their squads manages to find this place, or even one of their massive Wyrms. If any of them get down here, it won't be long before the whole of the Badlands become just like the Burning Steppes."

"Aye," Darian said, pounding a fist on the table, "Sometimes I wonder which is the greater evil; Ragnaros's slaves or those putrid lizards?"

They both stood there for a while until a man suddenly came up to the tent.

"Prospectors!" the man said, "We've got a situation!"

"What is it?" Darian asked as he walked to the entrance of the tent.

"It's the expedition, sir!" the man said, "One of their numbers is coming this way!"

* * *

A gnome ran as fast as he could. He was running like crazy, fear in his eyes and haste in every step. His clothes were torn to rags and his staff was cut into two pieces.

"CLOSE THE GATES!" the Gnome shouted at the top of his lungs, "EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! CLOSE THE GATES!"

Two Dwarf sentries looked puzzled at what the Gnome just said, but they quickly shepherded the little Gnome inside before they began shouting similar orders of closing the gates into Uldaman. With a great and mighty groan, the stone doors into the halls of Uldaman closed as Dwarves and Men alike pushed hard upon their carved surfaces. The Gnome, jittery and tired, was half led, half dragged by the two sentries as they took him to Darian's tent.

Prospector Darian and Ryedol brought the Gnome to a seat. Ryedol waved a hand over the Gnome's eyes to test the Gnome's reaction.

"He's in shock," Ryedol said, "Somebody get me some ale! We need to wake this guy up so we can see exactly what the situation is."

The man from earlier quickly did as he was told, heading over to the cook's tent to get some ale. Darian stared hard at the Gnome before providing a few of the answers.

"This is Oggy Stonehammer," Darian said, "He's one of the mages sent in the expedition. He was supposed to be the archivist of the event. I've never seen him like this before."

The man came with a flagon of mead. Ryedol quickly took it and gave it to the Gnome who, while still in his shock, quickly drank it all within five gulps. The Gnome mumbled for some more, and Darian asked the man to get some before speaking.

"Ogg," Darian said, "It's Darian. Look at me. Where are the others?"

Oggy's lip quivered as he stared blankly outside of the tent towards the door into Uldaman.

"Ogg," Darian said, "Wake up. We need to know what happened. What did you see? Answer me!"

Oggy mumbled something unintelligent at first, but then began to speak.

"Dead," he said, "They're dead."

"Who are?" Darian asked, "Who's dead? What did you find? What's inside there?"

"They…woke up," Oggy continued, "Going to…kill us all…dead…"

"Who woke up?! Did you find the Discs of Norgannon? Where are the others?!?"

"DON'T YOU GET IT?!?"

Oggy suddenly jumped out of the chair, knocking it over. Ryedol and Darian backed away; surprised that someone that small could knock a chair twice his size over so easily.

"They're dead, damn it!" Oggy said, panting as he continued, "THEY killed them! The Dark Irons, the expedition, it all didn't matter once THEY woke up! We're all going to die, just like the rest of them, and I think, deep down, we all know it!"

Oggy panted and suddenly collapsed flat on his buttocks. Ryedol bent down to help the Gnome back to his feet. Darian turned as the man with the mead returned with a fresh flagon. Darian took it, gave it to Ryedol so he could help Oggy some more, and turned back to the man.

"I need you to get two of our best War Rams," Darian said, "We have to warn the Alliance about what's happened here. I'm calling an emergency meeting with the highest official in the area!"

"Yes sir!" the man said. He quickly ran over to the stables on the southern end of the camp. Darian looked down at the map of the Eastern Kingdoms and quickly began devising a plan of action for a meeting place…

His ultimate decision was the only Alliance-free area close enough to Uldaman to reach: The town of Thelsamar, northwest of the Titan city, in the region of Loch Modan!

To be continued…

**Kerian**: Today begins a new age for WoW fanfics. I've noticed that the majority of them are not very good or involve mostly the Warcraft games. This changes as of now...as The Seige of Uldaman is at hand, and a new world awaits...

**Disclaimer**: World of Warcraft is owned by Blizzard Entertainment, and I am not affiliated with them or any other company affiliated with Blizzard and/or World of Warcraft. I do not own World of Warcraft, and my writings are strictly non-profit (duh...lol).

-Kerian


	2. Chapter 1: A Tense Alliance

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**World of Warcraft**

The Siege of Uldaman

Chapter 1: A Tense Alliance

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_Two Months Later…_

Thelsmar was rather quiet that morning. The morning sun rose in the east, bathing the mighty Loch Modan in a crisp, golden light. The daybreak sky was the color of gold at first, and was quickly followed with a bright blue light. Bats flew to their caves to make ready for another night's hunt while birds awoke and began singing their songs amidst dew-covered leaves and nests.

General Marcus took a deep breath as he rode a rented war horse down the streets of Thelsmar. His escorts; a trusted Knight of Stormwind, and a former Mage of the Kirin Tor; followed him down the street on their own horses, taking care to keep close to their General and ensure that no one attacked him unawares. Marcus was not afraid; he in fact didn't like the idea of parading with an escort. However, during these dark times even the young king found it necessary to have his highest warrior be kept alive, and, if the news that Marcus got from Stormwind was true, what Marcus was about to find out would be very dangerous indeed.

General Marcus Jonathan was a very powerful man; not just in strength but in connections as well. As the High Commander and General of Stormwind, it was his job to ensure that Stormwind and all the kingdom of Azeroth were kept secure and, when the situation demands it, to deal with problems involving their allies in the Alliance. Marcus was a tall and strong individual. He had short, brown hair, barely grown more than traditional standards but still short enough that they didn't go past regulations, same with his beard and mustache. He wore his plate and mail armor at all times, proudly letting those in battle as well as those off of battle see the glorious symbol of his rank and his Stormwind Insignia on his chest and shoulders. Though one would consider him proud, he has every right to be with his battle record and his capability in battle, as he was fearless and courageous when boldly striding into any combat. Marcus was a man of respect, and his people loved him for it, though he was nothing without his duties as the High Commander of Stormwind.

They stopped at the inn, a quaint little place called The Long Drought. Marcus sighed, rubbed a hand over his short, brown hair, and hopped down from his horse. His escorts dismounted as well, and the three of them walked inside. Several Dwarves, some Gnomes, and a few men and women were sitting down for an early morning breakfast. Two Dwarves were setting chairs and tables up for later activities, and, surprisingly, a Night Elf was resting himself in the far corner of the room.

As Marcus walked up to the bar, many of the patrons looked up in awe at the General. One or two men stood up and saluted to the General, who nodded in return. The Night elf looked up from his resting spot to tip his large hat at Marcus and his escorts, before leaning back on the corner and resting.

Marcus came up to the bartender; a very stout Dwarf who was also the innkeeper of the establishment. The Dwarf looked up from the pint he was cleaning and stood up, saluting once to the General.

"Officer at present," the Dwarf said with a chuckle. "Welcome to The Long Drought, me humble inn. Name's George. How can I offer my services to ye?"

"My name is General Marcus Jonathan, High Commander of Stormwind," Marcus said, "I'd like two pints of beer for my comrades, and a tankard of mead for myself. It was a long Gryphon ride from Stormwind."

"Right away, sir! No charge," the Dwarf said, filling two tankards from a keg of beer. "Umm, if you don't mind me saying, what are ye doing here so far from grand ole' Stormwind, sir?"

"I'm here on urgent business," Marcus said, "I got a message a little while ago to meet someone here; somebody by the name of Darian Pickswinger. Is he around?"

"Hmm…Darian…" the Dwarf said, trying to remember, "Oh yes! Good ole' Prospector Darian! Yeah, he's in the back. Whatever business it is, you can tell its urgent by the way he uses his ole' pocketbook. He paid me half the price of this inn just to rent the room upstairs! That's enough to retire, that is!"

"May I see him?" Marcus asked.

"You're his audience, aren't ye?" the Dwarf replied, "Absolutely! Take the back door and go up the stairs on the left. It's the first door on the left at the top of the stairs."

"Thanks," Marcus said. He tossed a coin for a tip and walked to the other side of the bar and made his way up the stairs. His escorts followed him closely as the group of them went up the stairs and into the next room.

* * *

Darian sighed as he stroke his beard. Oggy Stonehammer was sitting on a seat in the corner, drinking some ale from a tankard with both hands, shivering a little after each sip. Prospector Ryedol put a comforting hand on his back to calm the boy down. Leaning against a wall was a man by the name of Daryl the Youngling, smoking a pipe and running a finger over his hunting bow.

Darian fiddled with a piece of straw in his mouth when he tossed it aside and started mumbling curses.

"You don't need to be so glum about this, lad," Ryedol said, "Twas your idea, after all."

"I know that," Darian said, "It's just…aww, Hell! How could something like this happen now, of all times?!? Why didn't it happen a year or two ago during piece times instead of now while there is war to be had up north?!"

Before Ryedol could answer that question, there was a knock on the door. Ryedol sighed once before shouting, "Come on in, Vyrin. Who is it?"

The door opened, and a High Elf woman poked her head inside. "General Marcus is here to see you," the Elf said.

"Aye, I thought so," Darian said, "Let them in, now…you'd better come in here too, lassie. You may need to hear this."

Vyrin opened the door and allowed General Marcus and his escorts to enter. She followed behind and closed the door behind her. Ryedol and Darian stood forward and quickly took a bow before offering seats for the General and his men.

"Thanks for the offer," General Marcus said, "but if this is a crisis I'd much rather stand."

"Aye," Darian said, "but I was offerin' the seat for later. You're gonna need it because the mead around here is very strong, and I can see you have a full tankard of it."

"I can hold my guts to many things, both horrifying and pleasuring, prospector," General Marcus said before taking a long drought from his mead. He lowered his tankard to the table and wiped the foam off of his mustache. "Liquor is one of many."

"We can't thank ye enough for coming so far north on such short notice," Ryedol said, sitting himself down next to Oggy, "Though we would have been just as happy having someone like a Lieutenant or a Captain over here, having the High Commander of Stormwind was more than we ever hoped for."

"Well, let's cut the chatter," General Marcus said, "What's this all about? I know it has to do with something that involves war or battles against some faction up here, but I can only offer a few of my services."

"This might make matters a wee bit more complicated," Darian said, "but no matter. We called you here to ask you for your help. As you know, we are representatives of the Explorer's League in southern Khaz Modan, and we have been dealing with excavations in the Badlands."

"I've heard of that," General Marcus said, "The Badlands are a very terrible place indeed. That's exactly why I came here by Gryphon and not by horseback. I heard that you made a great find in that region. How goes it?"

"That is why we are here," Ryedol said, "Darian's forces have recently uncovered Uldaman, the legendary Titan City…"

Many people in the room gasped. Rumors of the Dwarves' findings of ancient artifacts hinting of Titan cities had spread like wildfire throughout the Alliance. Legend told of one of those cities, the ancient city known as Uldaman, was a realm that was like a libram of knowledge of the Titans' creations. Rumor of the great Discs of Norgannon, fabled Titan artifacts containing the origins of many Titan races, had reached the ears of even the least caring Alliance individual, though none knew the location of the great city…save that it was in the region of Khaz Modan, a specific area known today as The Badlands.

"You found the Titan City?" General Marcus asked, "I can't believe this. You actually found a Titan City? This is amazing! Why weren't we told of this yet?"

"It's location was kept a secret, and for good reason," Darian said, "Dark Iron activity in the area would probably ensure that spies would discover the area's location, and the entire city would become overrun in less than a week. However, we now bring graver news, for Uldaman is not the jewel that we thought it was, but instead is a vault of great horror…"

General Marcus was taken aback. What could be so horrifying about an ancient piece of rubble?

"Oggy Stonehammer 'ere was about to tell us his story when ye arrived," Ryedol said. He patted Oggy's back, "Go on Oggy. Tell them what ye saw, lad."

Oggy's lip quivered before he was ready to talk.

"We set out about a fortnight ago," the Gnome spoke, "There were about fourteen of us, including two of my kinsmen. We had two humans, seven Dwarves, and the rest where Gnomes, including myself. I was instructed to archive the events that followed on our expedition into the city.

"It was two days after we set out that we made camp in an area we called Dig Two. Three of our number, specifically the three Dwarf Brothers, Baelog, Eric, and Olaf, were in charge of keeping an eye on the camp while the rest of us continued exploring. Every day we were instructed to return with our findings and rest before continuing to explore, and for a short while things were relatively peaceful…

"Things looked bad on the fifth day. A Dwarf gel had managed to fall under the might of some nasty-looking Scorpids. We didn't have the tools, nor the weapons to deal with the monsters, so we continued on our journey inside…it was too bad that not far too long after we found the vaults…

"There were several of them, with doors that reached to the ceiling some fifty feet up! Though they were large and made of stone, the doors easily opened for us when we attempted to pick the locks…

"Inside, instead of treasures we were hoping to seek, there were Troggs! Not just a pack of them, but a whole tribe, possibly hundreds of individuals, asleep on a different number of steps leading up to the ceiling of the room. Strangely, the creatures were as dormant as an inactive volcano, so we decided to leave them be and never speak of it again, and try and get the place sealed off when we got back.

"That's pretty much when things got bad. We discovered that there was a back entrance into Uldaman, and who else but those damn Dark Iron Dwarves could've found it? Their squads ambushed us in the tunnels, taking out a man and several gnomes before we ran for our lives in different directions.

Though several of our number happened to head into unknown territory deeper into the city, I was alone along with my kinsman, a mage woman, and the remaining dwarf in our company. The other three we had left at the camp, and to make sure that they weren't discovered we decided to take a different route out of the city to get help…

"On day 11, our forces came upon a group of Dark Iron Dwarves under attack from giant Golems! The creatures were hard at work in attempting to destroy the Dark Irons, though the Dark Irons were having just as much luck in repelling the stone giants. Our Dwarf friend attempted to help the golems out by attacking the Dark Irons and making him appear to be a common foe against them, but…he was squashed underfoot by a very big black giant of a golem, one with beady black eyes that seemed to suck the light out of the very air!

"When we headed back, the mage woman was elected to go back and get help. It was then that my kinsman stated that it was probably best that the two of us hide in the Trogg chambers; seeing as the creatures were sleeping like babies, he thought that inside of the vault was the safest place for us all to survive. I warned him not to, but the same madness that was within our Leper comrades in Gnomeregan had struck him, and he set off alone the damn fool! The crummy little ass had locked himself inside one, leaving me out to fend for myself while he cackled in glee from his ruthless cunning…"

Oggy's voice began shaking at this point in time…the story was taking a heavy toll on the little Gnome's sanity.

"It was then…" he whispered, "that the Troggs had awakened!!!

"I had no idea what happened to my kinsman, only that his screams and the screams of several squads of Dark Iron Dwarves followed me as I ran for three days back out the door and into Darian's arms…A symbol of death has come upon us all…Uldaman is no place of hope, but of death! It would have been better had we have never even heard of its cursed name, may it be damned for all eternity!!!"

Oggy slumped into his chair, his lip quivering once more, his ale slipping from his hand. Ryedol quickly picked the mug up and put it back on the table before turning to everyone else.

A deathly silence followed Oggy's story. Vyrin's eyes couldn't close from the shock, probably the first real shock she had witnessed in years since her assignment to protecting the area of Loch Modan. Daryl was fidgeting with his bow, a sure sign of nervousness.

"You can see now what we are up against," Darian said, "If this dark force isn't stopped, not only will the Dark Irons manage to find the Discs of Norgannon, but, if Oggy is correct, thousands of Troggs will pour out of Uldaman and spread throughout Azeroth. Khaz Modan would be overtaken within the month."

General Marcus was rather surprised about all of this. As if the war with the Scourge in the north wasn't bad enough. He rubbed his temples to stop his newly arrived headache, tried to take a drought of his mead, and found that there was none left.

"Well," General Marcus said, "this changes much, but what do you propose that we do? All of our available troops are away either in the north, dealing with the Scourge infested Lordaeron, or are off in Kalimdor dealing with Horde confrontations. With all that's going on, I can't even spare any more troops lest we leave Stormwind open to attack, and I'm sure that it is a similar case everywhere else…Am I right?"

Darian and Ryedol nodded their heads.

"Aye, that be true," Ryedol said, "King Bronzebeard himself planned on coming here to address the matter, but was forced to send his brother Brann instead. You could imagine his surprise when he found out. I reckon this situation knocked him out of ten years' beard growth!"

"Still, this ain't a joking matter," Darian said, "We are going to need all the help we can get if we are to defeat this evil. There is no other solution than that."

Heavy footsteps from behind a door in the room followed Darian's words. The door knob turned as someone from behind tried to open the door.

"That's where I come in," said a heavy voice as the door opened up. Everyone gasped as the mighty body of an old Orc in full regalia of armor and weapons strode into the room. The Orc had very pale, green skin. His fangs were as long as any other Orc's, but they were duller than usual due to age. His white hair hung in braids down his head and over his brutish helmet, which covered his mouth and lower face like an overweight under-bite. In his claws was a very big axe, its blades decorated with the image of a skull in the very center of the two sharpened pieces of metal. Overall, this Orc had the overall appearance of a mighty leader, as if Thrall himself walked into the room.

General Marcus had his sword drawn and was in a battle stance in moments. His escort did the same, ensuring that their leader had backup in case the monstrous Orc displayed foul play.

"What the hell is _that_ thing doing here?!" General Marcus asked.

"Relax," the Orc said, "I may be an old crone but I am not stupid. I come in peace. I mean no harm to you or your people…regardless of what you assume."

To put a point, the Orc placed the axe down, point first, and leaned the handle against the now closed door. He took off his helmet and let it fall to the floor, raising his gloved hands in a gesture of peace and ceasefire.

General Marcus may hate Orcs, but he was no fool when it came to honor. He nodded to his escort to lower their weapons, and sheathed his battle sword, gazing warily at the very large axe by the Orc's side.

"What do you want?" General Marcus asked.

"My name is High Overlord Saurfang," the Orc said, lowering his hands, "and I want to help. I came as soon as I could when the Dwarf known as Brann Bronzebeard sent his messenger to me."

"Ye have no idea how hard 'twas to hide him here," Ryedol said, "He'd stick out at this place like a sore thumb. It's part of why we paid the innkeeper so much money, mostly just to keep the lad quiet."

General Marcus sighed and decided to sit down. Now he really wanted another tankard of mead.

"Alright," General Marcus said, "if introductions are in order, I'm General Marcus Jonathan. It is…a pleasure to meet you, Overlord."

"The pleasure is mine," High Overlord Saurfang said, "I heard of your accomplishments by reputation only. Many an Orc was slain by your hand during the old wars. It is an honor to speak with a fellow experienced veteran."

Saurfang hit his armor with his fist to make his point. General Marcus nodded his head. The fact that he was speaking with a fellow commanding officer helped ease tensions somewhat, even if the creature was an Orc.

"Now, back to business," High Overlord Saurfang said, "I had been discussing plans with Darian during my stay, and sending messages to Warchief Thrall all the while. I had recently gotten a message today and had just finished reading it when you arrived, so I believe that I should act as a spokesman to Thrall in his stead.

"Thrall believes that this crisis cannot go unanswered. The Dark Irons and their actions in Uldaman must be stopped. Since there are many Horde members still within the Eastern Kingdoms and since the Dark Irons' actions affect all and not just the Alliance, Thrall believes that immediate action is appropriate. However, we cannot send Horde troops at this time due to struggles with the Alliance, as well as the impending Scourge War in Lordaeron and problems with the Centaurs in Mulgore. It has come to his decision that the following action is appropriate; we send in adventurers to do the job."

General Marcus was rather taken off guard. "Adventurers?" he asked.

"Mercenaries for hire," Saurfang continued, "high ranking officials, privateers, every day travelers; anyone who has yet to participate in the wars that have nothing better to do and will work for pay to do this job. Thrall believes this to be the best and appropriate action."

"We can't just ask for everyday travelers!" General Marcus protested, "You are asking that we pick up anyone off the dirt path, who likely has barely enough skill to run a farm let alone siege a titan city! It would be a massacre!"

"I do not ask for just anyone," Saurfang said, crossing his arms, "That would be mass suicide, something that we can't afford. I was thinking more along the lines of professionals, groups of people who can work together as a team; a very specific kind of team. I was thinking that we hire five individuals each from around the different continents and have them gather together to deal with this conflict. It is probably the best thing that I could come up with."

"Has this worked before for you?" General Marcus asked, "I don't feel that it is right to send only five people into someplace where they could be wiped out in days without knowing whether or not it is possible for it all to work out."

"It has," Saurfang said, "Ragefire Chasm, a place where the Horde was being attacked from the inside, was one such place where this tactic was used. Thrall had selected probably one of our best adventurers, and he has proven himself worthy over and over again since then. You will not find a better individual than he for the Horde team."

General Marcus placed his chin on his hand, thinking things over carefully. Should he trust an Orc, even worse an Orc General, one who had participated probably in the slaying of thousands during his career?

_Then again_, General Marcus thought, _He himself said that I had done the same. It must be difficult for someone like him to trust me…_

"Alright," General Marcus said, "You win. I'll help set up a team right now. Have you already gotten yours?"

"I have my own set up, yes," High Overlord Saurfang replied, "It is just contacting them that is left. It won't be too difficult."

"Alright," General Marcus said, "Any advice on how to set it up? This is something quite new to me in this case."

"We have managed to set this up based on the team that went into Ragefire Chasm," Saurfang said, "There is a Warrior who acts as a leader of the group; he will individual who gets the attention of any large and particularly difficult enemy. We call him the tank, for reference. There is a stealth expert who can assassinate if necessary as well as hunt down a target without becoming the hunter. He is considered a damage dealer when dealing with difficult foes. There are two spell casters, such as a shaman for example. We also have a druid as a healer."

"That's a very interesting team," General Marcus said, "I think I can set one up from there. Anybody have any requests before I start searching people out? I know that at least one of any one of us in this room has to have a friend or know someone who can act as a good example in this case…"

There was silence at first. Suddenly, Vyrin spoke up.

"I know of a Night Elf Druid who could act as a caster, General," she said, "He and I aren't good friends but I can't think of anyone else."

"I know of a Dwarf hunter who's a crack shot and an expert trophy hunter," Daryl the Youngling said, "He took my own gun off of me as a part of a bet. Caught me off guard, especially when he managed to hunt and kill Ol' Sooty…"

"Who's Ol' Sooty?" Darian asked.

"An old bear that was the target of the hunters a while back over at Farstrider Lodge," Vyrin said, "Daryl here wanted to kill the bear, but the bear managed to give him a scar as a result. The Dwarf hunter he speaks of was an outsider to this area who managed to kill the damn bear. Got Daryl rather upset actually."

Daryl glowered at the High Elf unhappily. He went back to smoking his pipe and fidgeting with his bow.

"I had an accomplice at the Kirin Tor who was great at Pyromancy," General Marcus' accomplice said, "I wouldn't entrust this job to a finer Mage."

"I suppose that we could contact the Church of the Light and see who they can send from there," General Marcus said, "Other than that, I think we have everyone."

"Then that settles it," Saurfang said, "I'll send word by Wyvern right away. Tomorrow we begin seeking out our teams. We have them meet back at Uldaman within a week or two."

"It's a deal…" General Marcus said. He stood up and shook High Overlord Saurfang's hand. The question still rang in his mind as to why he had ever shaken the Orc's hand to begin with.

_I guess peace between our kinds has to come sooner or later_, General Marcus reflected.

* * *

Gamar Rookfist sharpened his axe blade in the prairie sun of Mulgore. He kept the blade of the mighty axe, which he called The Rook, at a very sharp point every single day, regardless whether or not it was dull. His blade's polished edges seemed to gleam at the prospect that it would be used for blood, and it was guaranteed that was going to happen.

Gamar was about 6 feet tall when standing upright. He had black hair that twisted behind his head, bulgy arms and legs, and soft gray eyes. She-Orcs who gazed into his eyes were love struck at what they thought was a sensitive look, and many a time one had tried to woo him into becoming a husband. However, he kept his sensitive looks hidden always, especially at battle when the prospect of blood called his name. His eyes were all that betrayed the part of him, deep inside, that hated every aspect of war and what it caused him.

His father was the great Norzak Rookfist, a mighty commander of the first Horde. His father was a mighty fighter, using the very same axe that Gamar had in his hand for the bloodshed of thousands. A lieutenant of Orgrim Doomhammer, Norzak was the very role model for just about every peon in the ranks of the old Horde. When the new Horde was formed, Norzak Rookfist followed the Doomhammer as it was passed on to Thrall, leader of the now dead Frostwolf Clan and the new Warchief of the Horde. Rookfist, however, was taken by the Blood Haze when Grom Hellscream and his forces drank from the blood of Mannoroth and started attacking the Night Elves and their demigod allies. The great Rookfist died at the hands of Cenarius in battle, and his axe fell at his side, as lifeless as its owner.

Now Gamar had The Rook as his own, though it brought the memories of his father's betrayal and his own frequent Blood haze that occurred occasionally during his battles with whatever the Horde asked him to fight. Though his Blood Haze was nothing like his father's or anyone else's for that matter, it still was difficult to control, and more than once had Gamar reached a full Blood Haze. He was probably the only Orc that could do so, though there were other reported cases even amongst veterans who were more experienced than he.

Very big footsteps signaled the approach of a friend. Gamar continued sharpening his axe, ignoring the arrival of Caggar Bladehoof, his lifelong companion.

"Gamar," Caggar said, "Come. It is time to return to Orgrimmar. You have no need to be off all alone like this."

"I am afraid that I'm not in the mood for counsel, old friend," Gamar said, "Please leave me in peace. I have much…reflection that I must do."

"Reflection can come later," Caggar said, stamping a hoofed foot with impatience, "Though I am always out here trying to get you to return home every single day, there is another matter at hand, one probably more important than this."

"Nothing's more important than our friendship, Caggar," Gamar said as he stood up, "Even you say that, so if something like this is nagging you that hard I guess it must be out of the ordinary."

"Our deeds in Ragefire Chasm has been recognized, battle brother," Caggar said, "High Overlord Saurfang has just sent a message by Wyvern. The sound of battle calls our name once again."

"About time," Gamar said, stowing his axe, "I was just getting bored silly. Even the buzzards flying overhead looked like tempting targets."

"Come on," Gamar said, "Our mounts are ready. Huskarl looks a bit under exercised than usual. You haven't been using him very much."

"I don't travel much," Gamar said, "Just here and back to Orgrimmar. Where else would I go?"

Caggar chuckled, heading over to his mighty Kodo. The Kodo were the Tauren race's chosen mount, not just for their size but also for their determination when confronted by an enemy. Caggar's mighty green Kodo, Thunderstamp, was a prime example for how a Kodo should look; large, sluggish, and bulky. Although they did not have the preferred speed and ferocity of wolves, the Orc race's chosen mount, the Kodo matched them in perseverance and stamina, capable of outdistancing any wolf easily.

As Caggar got upon Thunderstamp's back, Gamar whistled sharply. The familiar howl and rushing paws of Huskarl, Gamar's mount and one of his closest companions, came thundering from a hill on a far side of the Barrens. Huskarl came up and licked Gamar like a tame puppy before standing still so that the Orc could mount the giant wolf.

"Last one to Orgrimmar buys the mead," Caggar said, holding Thunderstamp's reigns like he meant business.

"Not this time," Gamar said, "I know what happened the last time we raced. You won by a landslide and I had to buy several kegs of mead to satisfy your stomach. I won't make the same mistake twice."

"Suit yourself," Caggar said. He shook his head to scatter the flies out of his mane and kicked back at Thunderstamp's flank. The Kodo bellowed and charged forward, eager to reach their chosen destination.

Gamar shook his head and rolled his eyes. He snapped Huskarl's reins and got the big gray wolf running like crazy. The wolf, though his master said otherwise, intended to beat the Kodo to its destination, its pride still wounded from the last time the big giant Kodo managed to win…

* * *

Brock Gunslinger looked down from his perch high up in a tree. As far as the eye could see, the cold, whispering hills of Dun Morogh stretched out throughout the Khaz Modan mountain range. He peered out and around the hilltops, trying to find a creature that would make the perfect kill to add to his trophy collection.

Brock was quite an odd sight to see, high up in the treetops. Perhaps this was because he was a Dwarf, a creature fonder of the deep places rather than heights up in a tree. Brock was unlike other Dwarves in the sense that he preferred the great outdoors rather than the dark dungeons deep within the earth. He was compared to Brann Bronzebeard, a similar-minded fellow who happened to run the world famous Explorer's League. Brock didn't like the idea of digging in the dirt, however. He enjoyed the life above ground instead of the boring distaste of dirt below it. This was why he became a hunter instead of a miner like everyone else. After all, how else would Ironforge get its quality leather?

Brock managed to spot probably one of the most perfect specimens to go upon his wall; an elk, about six or seven feet long and a huge rack upon its head. The creature was obviously an old one, and was the perfect prize to hunt. He could eat the venison off of that big bull for quite a few weeks and still have enough to sell.

Brock slowly climbed down, taking care not to lose sight of his quarry. Below, waiting on the ground, was his trusted Bear, a pet that he had raised as a cub. The big Grizzly Bear, Thor, was also his mount, surprising seeing as most Dwarves ride upon the battle rams throughout Dun Morogh.

"Come on, boy," Brock whispered, "We got a live one 'ere!"

The bear grunted in satisfaction. It slowly followed Brock's side, taking care not to make a sound as its master slowly stalked their new prey. Brock took out a very big rifle from a sheath in his back. The rifle, a Megashot Rifle said to have been found in the dark encrusted corners of Maraudon in Kalimdor, was a far ranged weapon that had an increased rate of fire, allowing the user to reload faster than normal. Brock had tuned this gun up quite a bit to ensure that he could have automatic fire, in case he managed to miss his intended target. The gun's range was excellent, allowing him to shoot at very far distances.

With gun in hand, Brock began to track his intended target, intent on shooting the elk down. He had barely gone but a hundred yards when he spotted the Elk, the creature grazing upon the hard grass that grew beneath the snow in the plains of Dun Morogh. Keeping as silent as possible, Brock lifted the weapon and began to load his specialized bullet clips, ensuring that he could fire five times in record speed. Once he had loaded the clip, he raised the rifle, aiming its scope carefully at the giant Elk at over 200 yards away.

* * *

The big bull Elk raised its head, sensing that it was being watched. It cocked back its ears, listening intently as it tried to pick up any signs of an intruder. It looked around for a while, taking care not to miss anything within its domain. When it was satisfied, it lowered its ears, lowering its head to the ground and taking a bite from the rough grass under the snow.

Little did it know that the grass in its mouth would be its last meal in this life…

* * *

Brock pulled the trigger. With a tremendous bang, the gun opened fire, sending a bullet straight in the direction of the Elk faster than the blink of an eye. The Elk only had time to open its eyes in surprise before it was pierced by the deadly bullet, ending its life cleanly and efficiently. It fell to the ground, marking a small spot on the snow with blood as it fell.

"Go get 'em, boy!" Brock whispered.

Thor growled in anticipation and ran as fast as any bear could to the kill. Brock was proud of his bear. It had taken a very long time to train him to help with the hunt, and even longer to train the bear not to eat the kill once they got to it. However, the years they spent together had paid off, and they shared a mutual relationship like best friends. Thor was Brock's closest companion. He wouldn't trade that bear for all the beer in Ironforge.

Brock prepared his gun for future use and sheathed it as Thor returned, dragging the kill by its left hind leg. Bears were very useful pets when it came to hunting. Not only did they act as good hunters themselves, but their sheer size and their position as the most powerful predators in many different lands gives them an edge against predators looking to scavenge a meal. Sure, they had quite an appetite, but problems like that could be solved very easily when it came to the grand scheme of things.

Brock took out his skinning knife and quickly started tearing into the carcass. He dissected the different parts of the kill; the stomach, intestines, kidneys, and other parts he put in a pile, while he put the heart, muscles, and other parts in a different pile. He cut out the liver and immediately prepared a fire to cook it, preparing the large organ as a reward for his best friend.

After he was done, he gathered the piles from the snow and put them into special hunting sacks to keep the scent from carrying on to other creatures. Afterwards, he began skinning the Elk's hide, cutting off its head and covering it with a similar sack, leaving only the antlers showing. He skinned the hide and rolled it up into a bundle and set the bundle down beside him so that he could carry it later.

"Alright, boy," Brock said after sighing, "Ye want a treat, lad?"

The bear grunted in appreciation, knowing very well what its master meant by treat.

"Good," Brock said, grabbing the smoldering liver with his knife, "cause your liver is done and I don't intend on eating it. Here ye go. Enjoy it, 'cause that's all either one of us is going to get for dinner until we get back to Ironforge."

Thor growled happily as Brock tossed the liver into the air. With a snap, the bear snatched up the organ and devoured it, licking its chops as it did. It grunted in appreciation, licking its furry snout of the juice that slopped upon its face as it devoured the organ.

Brock smiled, and grabbed a rope. Quickly taking advantage of his pet's current actions, he slung the rope around the bear and tied the head and the hide to either side. He then picked up the meat, making sure that he covered the leftovers with snow so that it didn't attract predators much too soon for his liking.

Brock and Thor made their way back to their camp at the base of the tree, when Thor suddenly growled. Brock looked up and saw that their campsite was not alone. Sitting upon a Black War Ram was a Dwarf Warrior in full regalia, carrying a mighty axe strapped to his back. Upon his shoulders was the crest of Ironforge, indicating that he was a soldier probably of the high court of Ironforge.

"Brock Gunslinger?" the Dwarf asked as his ram pawed the ground.

"Aye, that be me," Brock replied, "What business have ye in my camp?"

"I am here on request of King Magni Bronzebeard," the Dwarf said, "Ye are needed in Ironforge, post haste. It is a matter of urgency."

Thor continued to growl menacingly. The Black War Ram pawed its hooves in agitation, showing that it was not afraid to run the bear into the ground. Brock noticed the two and proceeded to calm Thor down with a light pat on the head.

"I'll come right away," Brock said, "Give me a chance to clear up first. I just got a record kill here."

"So I see lad," the Dwarf said, "You need a mount? I can let ye ride with me if ye like."

"Already got one," Brock said, proceeding to take apart his small camp and saddle Thor up, "Ye can do me a favor though and take these two bags of food. Thor here's got enough of a handful as it is."

The Dwarf nodded and took the two bags, tying them up on either side of the Black War Ram. Brock finished saddling Thor up and added his two packs, along with a couple of hides and his latest trophy. He hopped on lightly and gave Thor a chance to get used to the weight before lightly tapping the reigns. Thor moved forward slowly at first, but as the other Dwarf began to speed his Black War Ram up the bear picked up the pace.

Brock wondered what the King would want with a hunter like himself as the Dwarf escorted him across the hills and valleys of Dun Morogh back to their home city of Ironforge, the great city under the mountain…

* * *

Tyrian Stormbreaker was reading a very heavy Tome. He was sitting upon a desk in the library of the fabled Cathedral of the Light in Stormwind. The shimmering stained glass reflected bright colors upon the desk and the pages of the book as he gazed into the symbols and runes on the paper. He meditated long and hard as he read the book, absorbing its secrets as he read each and every rune on the pages of the tome.

Tyrian Stormbreaker was a Paladin of the Holy Light. His father was once a part of the Knights of the Silver Hand before it became defunct during the Third War. Since then, Tyrian had attempted to make up to his father by being a Paladin for the Church of the Holy Light, ensuring his father's legacy would continue. Tyrian's family came from a long line of Paladins and Priests. Even his cousin was one, though he was a part of a rather fanatic organization called the Scarlet Crusade, an organization on the front lines of the Scourge War who fanatically believed in the purging of all undeath on the planet, though at the price of turning on other races they believed able to contract the Undead Scourge plague.

Tyrian Stormbreaker was a man of 23 years of age. He had blonde hair, hazel eyes, and was the very spitting-image of a Paladin, strong in body and mind. He usually wore his Church of the Holy Light armor, which was a powerful Judgment Armor set, red and gold with silk and leather decorations. Though he did not wear the Judgment Armor helmet, which was too restricting for his face, he still looked the image of a powerful fighter when strapped into the armor.

Hey may have looked like he was a commander, but Tyrian was anything but. He earned the armor when dealing with an invading horde of Undead that were attacking Stormwind during his early years as a Paladin. The armor was offered along with the rank, but Tyrian preferred being on the front lines instead of commanding at the Cathedral and placing his judgment upon men. Since he had succeeded in defeating such a powerful foe, the Church of the Holy Light decided to give him the armor anyway as a gesture of goodwill. Tyrian wore it proudly whenever on duty in the war against the Scourge or whenever he was present in the Cathedral of the Light. Right now, he was trying to learn the secrets of seals and their powers, an exercise which he did often to ensure he could do it in battle.

"Working late again, I see?"

Tyrian looked up from the tome at the sound of the beautiful voice. Standing before him, wearing a set of Vestments of Prophecy, was a beautiful priestess. She had pale gray eyes, long light-brown hair, and carried a powerful staff called The Staff of Westfall in her right hand. She looked down at Tyrian with a smile, her left hand on her hip as if to remind him that he should be doing something else.

Kara Whisperglade was Tyrian's closest friend. The two of them had been inseparable since they first met as kids. At that time they were naïve, able to make friends with anybody. Tyrian remembered the day that they both tried to make friends with an Orc boy, with mixed success.

It was on that day that the second war had begun. Tyrian and Kara had barely escaped death on that day. It was only by the recklessness of his older cousin, Jacob, that had saved them both from an untimely death at the hands of the Orc's father. The Orc carried an axe unlike any other; one that shone red in the light as the Orc attempted to kill the young warrior trying to defend his kin. Though the Orc escaped, Jacob had sworn that he would protect the human race from their biggest threats from that day forward.

Jacob had changed a lot that day; so had Kara. That experience between the two human friends and their Orc friend-to-be helped kindle their close relationship. Kara was with Tyrian when the Scourge invasion occurred in Stormwind, and had given him aid when he was in the middle of fighting one of their monstrous abominations. For her aid she had received her rank and her Vestments of Prophecy, something that she didn't take lightly.

"Kara," Tyrian said in surprise. He stood up, brushing the dust gathered on his armor leggings from the Tome. "What are you doing here?"

"What else?" Kara said with a smile, "I'm here to remind you to do something. The Archbishop had asked for a meeting for us both…you're fifteen minutes late!"

"Ah, hell!" Tyrian cursed, slapping his forehead as he did, "I forgot. Come on; let's hurry before the old geezer blows his top again!"

"That 'old geezer' is one of the most respected citizens of Stormwind, and our boss!" Kara chided as they both began to make their way out of the library and towards the Archbishop's chambers, "He is by all rights our superior and our mentor, and I suggest you have a better view of his ways."

"I respect Archbishop Benedictus," Tyrian said, "I just think he's an old geezer. Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Absolutely," Kara said, probably for the seventeenth time since Tyrian had first asked that question, "You are a high ranking Paladin who was almost elevated as a Judgment once in the past. You should be mature enough to know that it is not wise to call any elder, especially the Archbishop, an 'old geezer.' One would think that you would know better than that."

Tyrian did know better. He admired Archbishop Benedictus greatly. Though he was no warrior and inexperienced in the ways of battle, the Archbishop was the head of the church and was also in charge of all of its actions, military and otherwise. The Archbishop, though quiet, was a commanding individual willing to give his life to ensure that the Undead Scourge would be defeated once and for all. The reason Tyrian called the Archbishop an old geezer was mostly to push Kara's buttons. In truth, Archbishop Benedictus was like a father to Tyrian; someone to look up to when the times are tough around the edges.

Tyrian and Kara walked down the halls of the Cathedral of Light. They walked past the stained glass windows and tall pillars that kept the stone and wooden walls and ceilings in place. Everywhere there were decorations, such as lovely paints and the banisters and carved wooden arches in every hall. What was most common about the setting was that there seemed to be an artifact or legendary object associated with the Light in almost every corner of the mighty Cathedral. Tyrian had gazed upon such objects many times in his life with awe and wonder at what each could do, even though the universal rule he learned since his childhood remained clear; look, but don't touch.

As Tyrian and Kara walked up to the large doors that led to the Archbishop's private library and living quarters, two Priests stood in front of the door to deny them entrance. These priests were the Archbishop's most loyal followers, acting as guards to the door, mostly to deny younger priests without permission from entering the Archbishop's library.

"We've been summoned," Kara said quietly.

The two priests nodded, and stepped aside to allow the two to pass. Tyrian and Kara entered the room, walking up the red and violet carpet to the Archbishop's study desk.

Tyrian saw right away that something was wrong. Standing in front of the desk, turning around as the two went in, were two people that Tyrian had never seen before. One wore the unmistakable armor of a Stormwind Defender, a soldier of the castle, one specifically only sent for vital missions such as protection or for defending the city from attackers. Many of them gave their lives to ensure the protection of the city during the Scourge invasion, and many more would be willing to give their lives again to ensure that their city was protected.

The other man wore the Magister's Regalia of the Kirin Tor…

Tyrian knew that the Kirin Tor was defunct since the fall of Dalaran. Many of the wizards had either disappeared or had done excruciatingly horrible things. The infamous Kel'Thuzad, a monstrous Lich who lead the Scourge holdings on Lordaeron in Stratholme, was once a part of their number. So was a certain Archmage Arugal, a mage who tried to stand up to the Scourge by sending in monstrous Worgen, but turned crazy as the Worgen turned on their allies, and has since been considered crazy beyond belief. No good came out of any Mage of the Kirin Tor, whether they are enemies now or allies.

"I take my leave," the Warrior said to the Archbishop, who was sitting on his chair behind his desk.

"Thank you, Samuel," Archbishop Benedictus said, "I'll send them out when we are finished."

The Warrior struck his right hand to his chest and bowed low, a salute to the Archbishop, before turning to leave. He nodded once to Tyrian, a smile barely concealed behind his helmet. Tyrian nodded back. Ever since Tyrian had succeeded in defeating the short invasion of the Scourge into Stormwind and killed the Lich behind it all, he was considered a War Hero amongst Stormwind. Even higher officers praised his success, which Tyrian didn't mind in the least. It was nice to know that he was recognized in the ranks.

Tyrian and Kara walked forward to the desk. They both took a quick bow, showing their respect to the aging Archbishop. Benedictus nodded his head to each of them in return, and the two stood up straight. Tyrian looked warily at the Mage standing to his right, unsure whether to accept him or feel disgraced by him.

"You summoned us, Lord Archmage?" Tyrian asked.

"I did," Benedictus said, "Although you were late once again, Tyrian, I feel that it is best that I ignore these simple mistakes, for we have other pressing business to attend to that I feel you must answer right away."

Benedictus stood up, his knees notably shaking from the effort. Though Archmage Benedictus was still in his fifties, he wasn't getting any younger, and the man's age was catching up with him quickly. The Archmage reached for his staff, and used it to support his weight as he stood. He stared long and hard at the three standing before him before he walked away from his chair and began to pace around the Library.

"You both have been called for an urgent matter," Archbishop Benedictus began as he paced past the stained glass windows, bookshelves, and banisters attached to the wall with even more bookshelves, "It appears that our friends, the Dwarves, have uncovered a mighty Titan city; a lost civilization that contains secrets vital to their past and future. We have received word that the city is even now besieged by monstrous creatures, as well as the Dark Iron Dwarves; the old enemy to our allies in Khaz Modan.

"General Marcus Jonathan had recently gone north and had received the news, and has acted accordingly. He has decided that a team of five individuals of different skills and traits will be selected from the Alliance to deal with this catastrophe at hand. The individuals working on this, the Explorer's League, have estimated that if these foes are not stopped, our allies in Khaz Modan will be overrun within the next month or so, leaving our only route north to deal with the Scourge Invasion completely cut off by these foul beasts. The General has asked me, of all people, to select two of my finest to accompany this team; a Priest of great healing powers and wisdom in the Light, and a Paladin with the strength and will to uphold mighty foes in the Light's name. I have chosen you two for this task, specifically because of your successes against the Undead Scourge incident here in Stormwind."

"Us?" Tyrian asked in surprise.

"You wish for us to carry out this assignment?" Kara asked, seemingly shocked as well.

"Naturally," the Archbishop said, coming to a halt, "Who else would I turn to? You both are qualified individuals, recently boosted into the ranks and establishing great potential, I might add. You are almost perfect as a team, and your skills are unquestionable. There are no better people for me to turn to than you both, and I mean that from the bottom of this old man's heart."

"Thank you, sir!" Tyrian said, a smile forming on his face.

"I almost hate to see you two go," Benedictus said as he walked up to the two of you, "We have too few good Paladins and Priests left, and I'd hate to see two of my best gone if another invasion occurs. However, I see that this is in our best interest; not only for the Light, but for our friends in the Alliance as well. The Dwarves and Gnomes up north are counting on us, and I feel that we shouldn't keep them waiting a day longer."

Tyrian couldn't believe his ears. He was on his first out-of-city assignment, possibly in contested territory! He hoped desperately that there would be Horde members to fight, or at least something along the lines of an Undead warrior or perhaps one of the Horde's Forsaken.

"This Mage is to go with you," the Archbishop said, extending his hand in the Mage's direction. The Mage had been silent during the entire talk, unmoving save for the blink of an eye or the turn of a head. He nodded once to Tyrian and Kara, who both nodded in return. "His name is Garadin; former Mage of the Kirin Tor. He is to accompany you on the journey as well as be a part of the five man team into the excavation."

This brought things down a bit. A Mage, let alone a Mage of the Kirin Tor, was going with them?!? The Archbishop should have been of all people to know that the Magi should not be dealt with, and yet he was allowing the Mage to go with them?! It was almost an outrage.

The Mage could tell that Tyrian's mood had changed. He shifted his position so that he could be directly facing the Paladin and Priestess to his left. His gloved hands were behind his back, resting against the powerful staff sheathed behind him.

"I am very pleased to be working with you both," the Mage said, speaking in a rather monotonous, almost emotionless voice, "You and your colleague both must have astounding status to be selected like this. I offer my congratulations, as well as my friendship."

The Mage held out his hand. Tyrian didn't offer his, though the Mage was obviously expecting it. The Mage drew back his hand and turned back around, staring adamantly back at the Archbishop.

"Yes," said the Archbishop, "I can see that there may be some rivalry here, but I have been asked to recommend that you all get along. No matter what rivalries we have going on with this group, the General expects that everyone be on their best behavior, and save any quarrels for the enemy. I am sure that you all will be just fine."

The Archbishop raised his hand and began to mumble some words. His hand glowed, and three beams of light shone on the foreheads of Tyrian, Kara, and even the Mage. While Tyrian and Kara stood still, eyes closed and kneeling in honor, Garadin felt rather uncomfortable, like he was in a place he didn't belong. He kneeled as well alongside the two others, though he was still uncomfortable at whatever ceremony was going on.

"You all have my blessing as Archbishop," Benedictus said, lowering his hand, "Go in peace, and may you succeed in your mission. Hail the Light!"

"Hail!" Kara and Tyrian said simultaneously, striking their right hands on their chests in salute. Garadin just looked at them both before getting up alongside them. The three bowed low to the Archbishop, and then turned to leave, striding through the open doors of the Archbishop's study.

Benedictus watched them go, waiting until his doors were closed before shaking his head. He walked over to his desk and sat back down on the chair, rubbing his hand across his forehead. He couldn't believe what he had gotten himself-no, them- into, and what was going on that General Marcus had mentioned in the letter the warrior Samuel had given him.

He was instructed to let the two know that they were to not stick to rivalries and to work together. That much Benedictus had told the two, and they obviously assumed that he meant the Mage of the Kirin Tor. What he didn't tell them was that there was another team being constructed as well; and the team was all going to be of Horde members!

It was bad enough that General Marcus was having a temporary alliance between the factions to ensure that the Titan City would not fall, but he was also asking that the Alliance team does not cause strife or give reason for the Horde team to fight them. It wasn't peace; it was plain mad! Though Benedictus was willing to go at any great lengths for peace, he still wasn't sure that this was the best solution.

Benedictus sighed as he looked up from his brooding and looked back at the book on his desk. What problem was it of his to worry? As long as the Horde were kept on a tight enough leash that they don't give the Alliance team reason to quarrel with them, he was sure that Tyrian and Kara would be fine. Besides; how bad of a threat could this really be?

* * *

Darian looked up from the letters in his hand and looked at the two teams standing before them. They were in two parallel lines facing one another, and not one of them looked comfortable being in the presence of each other. Darian shook his head disappointedly. He couldn't believe that he decided to go with this.

He looked at the letters; records from the different cities of the world; Orgrimmar, Stormwind, Ironforge, and Undercity. Each record contained information about each member of the Alliance team and the Horde team; information that would be vital to their success as soon as they all set out into Uldaman together.

Darian turned to his left, deciding to inspect the Horde team first. The first on his list was a Troll; a rather interesting specimen from the region of southern Azshara. His name was Narzan, a Troll assassin-for-hire that was being paid directly by Thrall to act as the "damage dealer" of the Horde Team. His bluish-purple skin was mostly covered up by his dark gray armor; Shadowcraft Armor, if Darian could remember correctly; that covered all but part of his forehead, his cheeks, his tusks, and his eyes. The Rogue's eyes darted back and forth between his team and the Alliance team, obviously looking over the strengths and weaknesses for both. Darian was half pleased, half disappointed at the fact that the assassin was an obvious expert; a good assassin would guarantee that a job would get done, but they usually tend to focus more for the highest bidder; equally willing to take a job with more pay by the guy who you paid him to take out. Trolls in general are no exception to the rule. From what Darian had read, though he tended to take experiences better than reading about them, the Trolls were natural survivalists, backstabbers, and, before they joined the Horde, cannibals. Their voodoo practices were feared far and wide by even each other, though the Darkspear Tribe had kept a low profile since they joined the Horde. It probably had something to do with their debt to Thrall and the rest of the Orc race.

The second was a Tauren; a Shaman by the looks of him; one with dark brown fur and an extremely large physique. He wore Earthfury garbs and held tightly to a very big and thick Totem, a staff strapped to his back. The Tauren's name was Caggar Bladehoof; one of the two Horde members that were a part of a team sent by Thrall to eliminate an enemy in a place called Ragefire Chasm. Both he and his Orc partner have had experience with dealing with Troggs, and they would be vital to the team with their current focus of enemies. The Tauren were known to be a peaceful race, not like what was expected amongst the Horde. The Tauren weren't pacifist, mind you; they were very valiant and powerful fighters and knew where their loyalties lay. They were appreciated by the Alliance mainly because a large portion of their number worked for the Cenarion Circle; an organization made up of mainly Druids and a few Shamans who worked to bring peace between creatures, and were especially protective of the environment. The Explorer's League had dealt with them in the past, both with good and bad tidings. It turns out that the Cenarion Circle didn't appreciate Dwarf digs that occurred beneath forests or near areas where large amounts of life is supportable, while the Explorer's League believed solely in the uncovering of the secrets of their past, as well as the past of all Azeroth. This usually ended up in confrontation, and things tended to get messy. Regardless; Darian had deep respect for the Tauren, and enjoyed their presence in the Horde, hoping that their kind could learn a thing or two from them.

The third was the Orc; the Warrior, and leader of the Horde team. His name was Gamar Rookfist, and he was also a part of the team that went into Ragefire Chasm. Gamar was an exceptional warrior; his dead father was a veteran in the Second and Third wars, and he had gained a considerable reputation himself doing several adventures in the past. Gamar wore an armor called the Vindicator's Battlegear; something that was Troll-make if he remembered, though very sturdy and powerful overall. Darian didn't much like the idea of having an Orc in the Horde team. It wasn't because of racial prejudice; something he hated often; but it was because of the fact that three humans were in the Alliance team. If it ever were to come to a fight, the Orc would immediately be targeted by the humans, and he wouldn't stand a chance. Still, if the two kept to their orders and ignored each other, he was sure that things may actually turn out alright.

The fourth member was another Tauren; this one a female. The Tauren was a former member of the Cenarion Circle; former because she had chosen to resign from the Circle in order to get some more action out of life. She wore the robes called the Cenarion Raiment, which was covered in leaves and antlers. A cape that stood out as a symbol of unending life billowed from her shoulders, though she had little else. Save for her gnarled wooden staff, the light-brown Tauren female had little else to offer in the way of defense. The Tauren female kept making admired glances at the big male. Her name was Selvan Ashenfur. Darian had remembered seeing her in a Cenarion Circle meeting with the Explorer's League over territory. The Tauren was a legend at Druid healing, and was rumored to know just about all the secrets there was in the art.

The final member of the Horde Team was someone that Darian had hoped would never join up; a Forsaken Undead. Worse than that; a Forsaken Warlock! The Forsaken, calling himself Necrus, was one of the most powerful Warlocks of the trade, capable of destroying entire buildings with the flick of a wrist. Not much was known about Necrus, save that he was a legendary Warlock who succeeded in hundreds of secret missions for the Undercity, personally recommended by the "Dark Lady" Sylvanas herself. The Warlock wore a Deathmist Raiment, and held on tightly to a very nasty-looking scythe, called the Soul Harvester, if Darian could remember correctly. The Forsaken have had a nasty reputation ever since they broke from the Scourge. Many believed that they were really Scourge spies in the guise of Undead with free will, while others still believed that they would eventually betray the Horde and destroy the living, finishing the task they were given when under the Lich King's control. Darian only knew that they gave him the creeps; they always smelled of rotting meat, their faces contorted in the wrong directions, and they always had the look of a murderer about them whenever one looked into their pupil-less eyes. Darian would have been glad if they suddenly all died of unknown causes and let the world of the living in peace, though he didn't mention that while he looked at the records.

Darian checked off the Horde team, pleased with their skill levels and glad for their attendance. He proceeded to check the Alliance team, pleased to see that many high ranking individuals had shown up, glad that the Alliance could send their best. Not that he was disappointed with the Horde; he supposed that it was because they were his official allies that he felt more appreciated with their presence.

The first on the list was a Night Elf Druid. The Druid, specifically a Feral Druid, was a powerful individual who had helped Alliance forces heal the legendary Wailing Caverns, a place where the so-called Emerald Nightmare had tainted the land. The Night Elf's name was Asterian Oakstrider. The Druid wore a Feralheart Raiment, though his weapon was hidden in the sheath behind his back. Night Elves were very reliant in the Druid arts. Though they prefer the healing ways of Druids as well as their magical powers, a few Druids choose the ways of the Feral Druid, capable of transforming into different animals at will and using their strengths and powers to defeat their enemies. Feral Druids were very reliable when it came to close combat, though sometimes they could get too out of hand when it came to people skills. Night Elves claimed to have curbed that image, though Darian doubted it. He had seen a Feral Druid, specifically a Night Elf, go crazy in the past, and he doubted that even Night Elves could control their tempers with that kind of power at hand.

The second individual was a former Mage of the Kirin Tor, called Garadin. Garadin was known throughout Lordaeron as a powerful individual intent on securing as much of the Plaguelands as possible, attempting to repair the Kirin Tor's reputation as a powerful magical organization. Garadin was legendary for his solo missions attempting to bring justice to Lordaeron's ruined countryside, though his help was too little to cause much of a difference to the Scourge's forces. Darian admired the aid of anyone from the defunct Kirin Tor for their skill in magical prowess. He was sure that the Alliance team would appreciate Garadin's help as they take out the enemies within Uldaman. However, Darian knew that the Kirin Tor were not without their bad ends, as many a qualified wizard had become mad, or associated themselves somehow with the Scourge. Though Darian couldn't point many out, he did know that one of the Kirin Tor's past number now sat as the right-hand man to the Lich King in the north; Kel'Thuzad. Then again, it was probably that dark past that gave Garadin a reason to accomplish this task…to help change that infamous reputation.

The third in the Alliance team was a fellow Dwarf named Brock Gunslinger. Brock was a well known hunter who lived outdoors in areas around Khaz Modan. Though not much was known about the Dwarf save for his choice of lifestyle, Brock's profile indicated that he was a very successful hunter. Many an inn had at least one trophy with his name on it, including the Farstrider Lodge in Loch Modan. Many a bear, elk, and moose had received the deadly end of Brock's weapons. Brock, however, was also a recluse. The Dwarf hated the indoors, especially the deep places. For some reason Brock never liked areas underground, and couldn't stay in mountain caves or any other area for long; not even in Ironforge. He focused his attention more in Dun Morogh and the Loch Modan area instead, enjoying the open air and hunting the many creatures for their leather or racks.

The fourth individual was certainly some eye-candy; even for a Dwarf. The lass's name was Kara Whisperglade, one of the finest priestesses of the Stormwind Cathedral. Kara was not known very well outside of the Stormwind area, but where she was known she was praised. Her deep faith in the Light and her skills in the ways of priestly magic made her a very powerful individual, both in her strength and her influence. Her capabilities made her unrivaled throughout Stormwind, and she was recommended greatly by the Archbishop Benedictus as a very skilled healer, classed in both first aid and her Light powers. Such a resume guaranteed that this lass was the perfect choice for the Alliance team, though Darian preferred to see so himself first before trusting to the given information.

The final member, as well as the team leader, was named Tyrian Stormbreaker. The man was a very well militarized paladin, capable of performing many military tasks in battle. His military record, though short, was astounding. The man had succeeded in stopping an entire Undead Scourge invasion cold by taking their Lich out and destroying the entire army. Tyrian's rank was also surprising; though the look suggested otherwise, this man was almost as high of a rank as a colonel, able to take a large portion of an army with him onto any campaign he wished if his mind was set and his orders were given. What was even more surprising was that the boy was barely 23 years old, making him one of the youngest standing officers since Arthas Menethil had joined the ranks.

All in all, the teams met to his liking.

"Alright, gather 'round!" Darian shouted to the lot of them, "My name's Darian Pickswinger. I'm the Explorer's League official in charge of this dig here in Uldaman, which makes me your boss. Now, this dig we are working on, Uldaman, is a very important find to both Horde and Alliance alike, as this is a Titan city filled with artifacts of all kinds. Deep inside this cave lies the fabled Discs of Norgannon, a legendary artifact said to contain information on the origins of creatures created by the Titan race.

"Right now, our dig's hit a little snag. About a little more than two months ago, we had discovered that Uldaman had been breached, and that Dark Iron Dwarf forces have managed to find a secret entrance into the dig from there. For all we know, we can also establish that there are Golems, and monstrous Troggs that have managed to break out of their vaults as well, which means that not only is Uldaman in peril for being breached, but it could be possible that Troggs inside will somehow manage to break out, swamping the entire Khaz Modan mountain range within the next month at the least.

"This is why you all are here. Uldaman is in peril, and the Explorer's League wants it back into our possession. We have decided that since our first expedition inside had failed, a second one will begin in its stead. You both shall be two teams; one of the Alliance, one of the Horde; that will enter Uldaman and complete the expedition from where we left off. You are instructed to destroy the Dark Iron Dwarf presence, contain the Troggs, and, if one or both of those two instructions fail, retrieve the Discs of Norgannon before the Dark Irons do. That being said, you must ensure that the Dark Irons do not retrieve it, for if they do they will have the information needed to mass produce an army unlike any other to do their elemental lord's bidding."

Darian walked up to a table in the center of the tent where they were holding the meeting. He picked up two rolled-up pieces of parchment and handed them to the leaders of both teams.

"Now," Darian continued, "These are maps of the known places in Uldaman that the expedition team's only survivor, Oggy Stonehammer, had explored and archived. These maps contain his notes, different locations, and helpful suggestions that both teams will need along the way. In order for both teams to receive their reward you must follow these instructions; both teams are to go in and come out alive, without fighting one another. By order of your respected leaders, you are forbidden to fight, kill, or give reason to fight or kill one another, on penalty of death when you return. We ask, and recommend that you do your best to work together when things get difficult, which is why we have you together as two five-man teams instead of a single ten-man team. In the case that you do have to split up, make a meeting zone where you can return to later. The final requirement is that you are to ensure that no one other than you get the Discs of Norgannon. Should there come a time when the Dark Iron Dwarves attempt to take it from you or find it on their own, destroy it and make sure there is nothing left. Failure on that part is not an option. Am I clear?"

The team members nodded. Darian noticed that Tyrian and Gamar had exchanged glances; not a good sign in his mind.

"Once you are past the gates you are on your own," Darian said, "We will only open the gates again if either you happen to complete your mission, or after a month's time. If you are not back then, we will seal Uldaman forever, to ensure nothing gets back out. Now, get your gear from the supply wagons outside and head out the door. Good luck, and Godspeed to you all. Dismissed."

"Yes sir," the teams said. Without any further discussion, both teams left the tent and made their way out to the supply wagons. Darian followed the last of them out, almost plugging his nose due to the fact that the damn Forsaken was last in line in front of him.

Darian oversaw that every team member got a month's worth of rations, first aid, proper excavation gear, etc. After an hour, the two teams were set, each carrying enough gear to feed a small army for a day or two.

As the Horde and Alliance teams left the camp and made their way to the gates of Uldaman, Darian could not help but feel sorry for the poor lads and lassies. The journey would be a dangerous one, and there was a guarantee that not all of them would make it in the end. Darian just hoped and prayed to the Light that they made it back safely, and that, somehow, they manage to succeed in defeating the Troggs and Dark Irons before all hope would be lost.

As the last team member went inside, the doors of Uldaman began to close. It almost took forever to close the giant stone gates, but it was all too short for Darian. He could not help that he had just put ten good individuals to their deaths.

The gates closed, and the dust that blew from their hinges began to settle. The siege of Uldaman had begun…

To be continued…

**Kerian**: The great siege has begun, but will the team members ever ally themselves with each other to help solve the problem easier? We shall soon see eventually...

Well, this chapter was a long time coming. I didn't want to post it until I was finished with a specific chapter of my Legend of Zelda fanfic, Legacy of the Sages (if you are reading this, that means that I already finished it). I haven't worked on the second chapter yet, though I will guarantee that I will be working on chapter 2 24/7 after a three-day complete writing vacation (after writing every day of the week, a person like me needs the rest. Phew!).

I have a lot of plans for this fanfic, part of it being that this is going to be more like a novel than anything else. The entire story should, hopefully, come to a maximum of 13 chapters long, not including prologue and epilogue as well. If I somehow manage to get to a stop in between (the stupid chapters are going to be about 9,000-11,000 words long, after all), then that's good and it means I will have come to my official completed epic, save for my two one-shots that I have already finished.

Now that I gave you that lot of near-useless information (lol, not really), me out!

-Kerian, Dwarf Prospector of Uldaman


	3. Chapter 2: Into the Darkness

**World of Warcraft**

The Siege of Uldaman

Chapter 2: Into the Darkness

* * *

_Blackrock Spire, a month earlier…_

Smog Clawsmasher gazed out into the night sky just outside of the halls of Blackrock Spire. He felt the cold wind breezes from high up brush up against his grey skin before replaced by the rising heat from the Burning Steppes below. He sighed as he scratched his black beard idly, staring off at the Redridge Mountains in the distance to the south.

Smog Clawsmasher was a lieutenant of the Blackrock Clan Orcs. Amongst the Dark Horde, he was considered one of the most ruthless, the most deadly of his class. Even the Black Drakes admired his ferocity and tenaciousness in battle. He was compared to Orc leaders such as Orgrim Doomhammer, Rend Blackhand, even the mighty Gul'dan himself. He was proud of the fact that he was considered so highly by his superiors, though he was even more proud of all who he had killed and murdered in order to get this high in the ranks. Being a Blackrock Orc wasn't without its trials, though it was probably more so if you had to deal with murderous and ambitious Black Dragonflight as well as having to kill hundreds of Dark Iron Dwarves in order to be expected to go far.

Smog sighed, taking out his sword from the sheath in his back. He stared admiringly at the blade, gazing at its polished surface as it reflected the moonlight. Smog had managed to snatch the blade from a dead Dark Iron Dwarf just before murdering the Dwarf's vengeful mate and kinsmen. The Dwarf must have been pretty high in the ranks in order to get so many of his kind to fight in his name after his death. It didn't matter to Smog; as long as the blade replaced the damn peon axe that he had carried beforehand.

Smog heard footsteps behind him. Sheathing his sword, the Blackrock Orc turned around and looked into the entrance of the great tower of Blackrock Spire. Standing in front of him was another Orc, wearing the signature armor of a Lieutenant similar to Smog's. The Orcs saluted each other, and Smog waited patiently as the intruder of his privacy began to speak.

"Overlord Wyrmthalak has summoned you, Clawsmasher," the Orc said, "He says it's urgent. Something about your next assignment."

"Good," Smog said, "It's about time that damn bunch of scales gave me something to do around here."

The other lieutenant didn't reply in agreement or disagreement to Smog's remark. Though Smog was a great warrior, the reason why he hadn't ascended further into the ranks was mostly because many of the Black Dragons believed that he should remember his place. That didn't stop Smog's hatred for the winged lizards, however, and it certainly wouldn't stop him now.

The other lieutenant led Smog down the steps back inside Blackrock Spire. Much different than the outside of the chamber, the inside of Blackrock Spire was always hot, a dry heat that made its way through the halls and chambers of the mighty fortress. The darkness in the Spire was always pervaded by a glowing red light, one that seemed to remind all about the frail and unstable state of the mountain under the fortress's feet. Dark Iron architecture seemed to shine in the stones throughout the fortress, a reminder of the original masters of Blackrock Spire before the Black Dragonflight and the Orcs of the Dark Horde took the fortress for their own, with the promise that the rest of the mountain would soon follow.

Smog walked alongside the other lieutenant as Orcs of many ranks saluted the two officers. Smog nodded his head to them all, thinking smugly to himself about how short of a time it was when he was just like them, and how his ambition kept him from remaining as one of them. Smog knew that, while the Black Dragons appreciated the alliance between the Dark Horde and their Dragonflight, the Orc peons were little more than disposable trash able to be sent to and fro in battle; sent throughout the lands with little care about what happens to them. This, coupled with his hatred of the Black Dragonflight, was what fueled Smog's ambition to become a high ranking officer, so that he could show them all that he wasn't going to be disposed like some Black Whelp too stupid to be considered a worthy Drake.

Smog straightened up as he and the other lieutenant entered Overlord Wyrmthalak's chamber. The mighty Dragonspawn's back was turned as he tended to what Smog immediately recognized as Black Dragon eggs. Smog knew that Black Dragons were very touchy when it came to guarding their young, especially in egg form. Nefarian, lord of the Black Dragonflight, desired more than anything to create an army of Black Dragons that would be able to sweep across the earth and destroy all that the other Dragonflights, as well as the mortal races, held dear. Part of it was inspired by his father's memory, seeing as Deathwing, the former lord of the Black Dragonflight, had similar goals in mind before he disappeared after the Second War. The mighty dragon lord had commanded that his highest ranking individuals, mostly Dragonspawn, were to guard these eggs with their lives. Anyone other than them caught anymore than three yards from the eggs would be slaughtered and fed to the whelps that hatch when the eggs were ready. Smog had seen it happen, and he didn't intend to get any closer than necessary.

Smog and the other lieutenant stood and saluted, holding their position as the Black Dragonspawn continued inspecting the eggs, almost completely oblivious to their presence. Smog was very tempted to say something to get the beast's attention, though he knew that the Dragonspawn had felt their presence long before entering the chamber. Experience and common sense told him to hold his position and remain silent. Many a peon had met their untimely death at the hands of the Overlord and his kind by simple lack of patience and brainpower to stay quiet.

When the Dragonspawn finally turned, Smog got a good look at the beast's face. The creature stared at the two for a moment, before returning the salute, his tail thumping on the ground in mild annoyance. Smog relaxed; privately glad that he didn't have to stand like that any longer. He may have been a lieutenant, but next to one as high ranking as an Overlord one might as well consider themselves a peon and save the accusers the trouble of mistaking them for one to begin with.

"Smog Clawsmasher," the Overlord said, his voice mixed with the guttural growls made by the vocal chords of all Dragonspawn, "Your success has attracted the attention of many high ranking officials amongst the Dark Horde and the Black Dragonflight. You should be proud, for we have a great and secret assignment for you sent in by Nefarian himself. Are you interested?"

Was the Overlord kidding? To have an assignment requested by the head of the Black Dragonflight himself? Smog may hate the Black Dragons, but he knew that there was always reward for obeying their orders, especially when they came straight from the head Wyrm himself. Such an honor was given to only a select few, mainly those of the highest rank. To be treated in such a way…

"Absolutely, Overlord," Smog said, saluting the Black Dragonspawn to show his enthusiasm. Wyrmthalak snorted once before continuing.

"News has come from our spies that the Dark Iron Dwarves have received information about a recently discovered Titan City, far to the east in the land known as the Badlands," Wyrmthalak said, "Our spies report that they seek an interesting artifact called the Discs of Norgannon, said to contain information of some kind that could involve the creation of an army of living stone. Nefarian is interested in this artifact, as acquiring it may ensure that we will not only stop the Dark Irons from acquiring new forces, but gain some for our own armies as well.

"However, evidence claims that the Alliance and the Horde also have knowledge of this object. Our evidence points out that both groups are on their way to try and retrieve the Discs, and that they and the Dark Iron Dwarves have been fighting to get this artifact at all costs. However, Nefarian sees that the Discs of Norgannon do not deserve to be the property of these...unworthy mortals. Do you agree?"

"Absolutely, sir," Smog said. He agreed with the Dragonspawn's logic. Any item worth having loses its worth at the hands of the enemy.

"Here's your task," Wyrmthalak continued, "You are to take five of our finest warriors, and three great Black Drakes. The nine of you are to make your way to this Titan City—this…Uldaman—and capture the Discs of Norgannon for yourselves. If you find Alliance or Horde members with it, you must steal it. Any hostiles in the area must die for the glory of Nefarian and his Black Dragonflight! Am I understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Smog said, saluting once more.

"Good," Wyrmthalak hissed, "I took the liberty of selecting your Drake partners for this task. They shall be ready soon enough, but you need to get your own men yourself. Be quick, or be dead."

"Yes sir, Overlord." Smog said, wary about the Dragonspawn's words.

"You are dismissed," Wyrmthalak said, "Leave this place. I have eggs to attend to."

Smog obeyed; his conversation with the Overlord over. Questions began to fill his mind about this strange place, this Uldaman that Wyrmthalak had spoken of, as the Black Orc left the chamber and made his way to the nearest barracks in the Lower Spire. Though he didn't care about ruins, he did happen to hear stories spoken by the Drakonids in Orcish (the Drakonids being drunk enough to say almost anything) about the glory that was the Titans, and how these mighty beings had helped shape the world into what it was today. If that was true, then whatever artifacts that they left behind, as dusty and old as they were, would prove to be very valuable in the hands of almost anyone. These Discs of Norgannon, for example, would be very valuable to the mighty forces of Nefarian, but priceless under the eyes of Dark Iron Dwarves.

_They'd probably give enough money to buy Blackrock Spire—no! The whole of the Burning Steppes! I would have a fortune in my hands_, Smog thought.

Smog admitted to himself that, while he was ambitious, he wasn't all too loyal. His hatred to the Black Dragonflight was just an example of how he disliked the current leaders of his kind. However, he could care less about the forces of Rend Blackhand, whether he had control of the Blackrock Clan or not. No, Smog's ambition went beyond any ties to his race, as did his hatred. True, he had no liking to the Dark Iron Dwarves, but should, somehow, the Black Dragonflight discovers the Discs in pieces, and if some of those pieces somehow managed to get into the hands of the Dark Irons…

Smog would get filthy rich and promoted all at the same time! What's more, no one would be the wiser. Sure, there were the three Black Drakes to deal with, but that could be easily done. Dragons may have long lives, and they also may have protective armor and flaming breath, but no one, not even a Demigod, is immune to a blade to the throat or poison in one's food. After all, dragons aren't immortal. His choice of soldiers under his command wouldn't be a problem; Smog happened to have an inner circle of warriors fanatically loyal to him, as all lieutenants in the Dark Horde did.

Smog made it to the Barracks, addressing the names of his most loyal Orc Warriors. He had complete confidence that he was going to succeed with this plan. The prospect of having a lot of money, a chance to find a means to leave the Blackrock Orcs and their Black Dragonflight allies, was too great a temptation to overcome. Perhaps with this much he could find a means to produce his own army, or even buy his own fortress. He'd love to see the look on all the faces of those who were once his commanding officers when he managed to create an army big enough to pound on the doors of Blackrock Spire and be considered a sizeable threat to the entire Black Dragonflight and Dark Iron Dwarves combined!

Smog shook his head and sighed. His mind was getting a bit carried away at the moment. For now, he would focus on the present; finding his men, getting suitable gear, rendezvous with the Drakes and flying east to the Badlands. From there, he would find the so-called Titan City, and then get the Discs under the noses of them all.

_This should be easy enough_, Smog said to himself.

* * *

_Present day…_

Brock wasn't exactly in the best of moods. Who wouldn't be when they had to go side by side into battle with a stinking Undead?

Brock didn't exactly like the idea of working with the Horde. It was bad enough that King Bronzebeard requested him to help explore Uldaman, a city underground and away from the fresh air and sunlight of the outdoors, but doing it with members of the Horde was something beyond his job description. Sure, he didn't mind the Horde, but he preferred them at a distance, one where they wouldn't cause problems and trouble…

…or, in the Forsaken's case, where Brock couldn't smell them.

Thor wasn't in a good mood either. Being a bear, his natural instinct of hunting prey was aroused at the smell of carrion, though the fact that the Forsaken was a walking and living piece of overripe meat was upsetting for the big Grizzly bear. Brock had to keep a close hand on Thor's harness just to make sure that the bear didn't try and attack the Forsaken, mostly because Brock was afraid that the Forsaken would bite back.

Brock had eyed his fellow teammates earlier before Prospector Darian sent him and the rest of the team into the gigantic tomb-like city. The leader, a strapping young man by the name of Tyrian Stormbreaker, was a Paladin under the direction of the Church of the Holy Light. He seemed like a good enough guy, though Brock could tell that, despite the man's military record, he was still, strictly speaking, wet behind the ears.

The Night Elf was a different story. The guy looked like any average 30-year old male, but could easily have been older than all the redwood trees in Dun Morogh. Brock could see that, seeing as all elves were once immortal beings, this guy could easily have much in the way of wisdom. However, while some would say 'don't judge a book by its cover,' Brock could easily have also said, 'don't judge the beast until his insides are cooked.' He would rather have the Night Elf out of his way instead of guarding his back unless he knew for sure that he was worth his salt in skill.

Brock next eyed the girl; the priestess. She looked alright; her figure was enough to probably make even the Forsaken back there eye her in ecstasy. Brock also knew that he could trust her if she came from the cathedral. Once, he had been gravely wounded after trying to take out, of all things, a Furnace Salamander cow while she was trying to protect her eggs. Thanks to the Priestess that came by, an angel he wanted to call her, he could at least say that he still had skin instead of the tremendous scar that would have formed as a result of the third-degree burns he would have suffered.

The final person in their group was a Mage of the Kirin Tor. Brock knew this fellow; he had helped King Magni Bronzebeard once back in Ironforge. His name was Garadin, if Brock could remember correctly. Garadin was an expert in mostly Pyromancy, though his arcane expertise extended beyond his preference to fire magic. Garadin was a trustworthy fellow, even though he…lacked in social skills.

Brock then began to look over the Horde team, who had decided it was best to stay at least a yard or two to the left of the Alliance team. The first of their group was an Orc. Brock couldn't say that he didn't mind Orcs; that would be lying. However, he didn't seem to think of this one as a bad sort. Then again the Orc didn't even speak, much less give Brock a chance to make an opinion of the green-skinned warrior.

One of the two Tauren, the Shaman, was walking beside the Orc and conversing with him in low tones. Brock knew from experience that Tauren weren't a bad bunch…if a little overzealous of their loyalties. Tauren in general were like Night Elves in the sense that they felt one with the earth. However, their loyalty to the Orcs and their Horde made it so that few Alliance individuals managed to see their good side over the raging bulls that they could be in battle. It was a good thing that the Tauren weren't deciding that the Alliance members were enemies right then and there; Brock didn't like the prospect of the mess they would make.

Towards the middle was the Tauren Druid girl. She didn't seem so bad; the Cenarion Circle were legendary for accepting members of both races, and having those members easily become friends just as easily as if they were a part of the same race. Brock could see, however, that the Tauren female was more used to open-air environments. The way she glanced at the walls and the ceiling, one would think that she was in a tight box the way she was acting. It proved just how innocent she really was. Though Brock didn't mind innocence, he knew that it would get her nowhere once she was needed to help heal the wounded.

The Forsaken guy…gave Brock the creeps. It wasn't just that he was undead and his stench carried from all the way at the back of the party, but he was also a Warlock. Brock had seen Warlocks amongst Gnomes back at Ironforge, and he knew for a fact that messing with demons was no way to go. He wasn't a real servant of the Holy Light, but he knew enough that meddling with demonic powers was frowned upon by almost everyone in the Alliance, and for good reason. Some of them still carried the scars of the Third War across their shoulders…like himself, for example.

The Troll didn't seem too bad, but he was secretive. The fact that he was a rogue was an obvious explanation to his behavior. Brock had heard stories about how Trolls used to cannibalize and had blood sacrifices made for their heathen gods. Though the Darkspears; the Troll tribe belonging to the Horde; hadn't eaten anyone in years, it was still enough for Brock to give suspicion.

"How much farther until we reach the city?" Brock decided to ask aloud.

"I thought we were already inside of it," the Night Elf said aloud.

"We're only in the main entrance hall," Tyrian said, "Dig one isn't far away from us. The main city extends just beyond it."

"The sooner we get there, the better," the Orc said, speaking for the first time since he had arrived outside of the gates, "I want to get this over with as soon as we can."

"Don't we all?" the girl, Kara, said aloud.

The teams remained silent for a while once they made their way through the first dig. Tyrian and the Orc called their teams for a halt so that they could gather what supplies they needed from the dig sight. Brock and his bear, Thor, made their way over to one of the farther areas, examining a bunch of boxes that should have contained food.

"I wood'ent touch 'dat if I was you."

Brock turned around. The Troll stood behind him, his arms hung down from his shoulders and hanging awfully close to a pair of daggers in his belt. Brock mentally made sure that his knife was nearby in case if he needed it before he replied back.

"Why's that, lad?" Brock asked, "Is there somethin' wrong with it?"

The Troll came closer. Thor growled. The Troll stopped at first and raised a hand to signal he didn't mean any harm. Brock reached up and stroked the bear's hide to calm him down, and backed away to give the Trolls some room.

The Troll made an interesting sight as he came up to the boxes and began sniffing about like an animal. Though Brock would have to admit that the Troll looked comical, he knew better than to say anything aloud. From all his time hunting, Brock knew from experience that anything with a nose could easily sniff something out no matter the distance. Given the fact that Trolls have noses as big as Brock's hand, he assumed the Troll knew what he was doing.

Finally, the Troll stopped, backing away from the boxes before fingering his nose as if to get rid of the smell. "Just as I d'ought," the Troll said, "D'ere's some kind o' fungus growin' on 'dis. Food go bad. No good ta' eat. Make poison dinnah."

Brock got what the Troll meant. The food inside of the crates must have grown bad and rotten over since they were left here. Poison fungus would have to mean some kind of mold or mushroom growing on the food.

"Thanks for warning me," Brock said hesitantly, "What else can you smell. Anything good in here?"

The Troll took another sniff, poking around and pawing at the different boxes.

"Not'ing 'ere," the Troll said. His ears suddenly rose. "Wait a secon'…"

The Troll pushed aside several boxes and crates, causing a ruckus as he did. Brock did his best to help him reach his goal by tossing some of the boxes aside. Even he could smell now how bad the food was. Thor just glared at the boxes that landed near him once before pawing them away, disgust etched across his snout.

"'Ere we go!" The Troll reached back and heaved as he lifted a big barrel from behind the crates. Setting it down on a table near a tent, he brushed off the dust before he sucked in a big whiff from the outside of the wooden barrel. This time, Brock knew for sure what was inside of it; any dwarf could recognize that smell even if it was in a marsh!

"Ironforge Beer," Brock said aloud, "She smells as if she's about four decades old!"

The Troll took another sniff. "Five decades," he said, "I tasted Dwarf beer b'fore. 'Tis good stuff."

"Good stuff?" Brock said, grabbing a couple of mugs from the pack strapped around Thor's back, "It's the best, lad! You'll find that you don't get quality stuff like this over in the Horde's ranks, that's for sure. Here; wet yer' whistle."

Brock filled both mugs to the brim of the stuff. Handing one of the frothing drinks to the Troll, he happily struck his mug with the rogue's before taking a big gulp of the brew. The Troll did likewise, moving the mug past his tusks as he swallowed down a portion of the brew.

"You know," Brock said as he leaned on the table, "I've just had a premonition. This is the first time I've actually sat down to have a drink with a Troll."

"Not mah first time drinkin' with Dwarf," the Troll said, "Explorah League make many trips to Azshara b'fore. Mah name's Narzan."

"Mine's Brock," Brock said, "My walking carpet over here is Thor. Raised him as a cub. Don't mind his growling; he doesn't exactly warm up to strangers too fast."

As if to emphasize Brock's words, Thor growled once more. Brock and Narzan looked up as they suddenly noticed that they weren't alone.

"Quit fooling around," the Forsaken Warlock growled. His voice sounded like rasping sandpaper. "We didn't come here to get drunk."

Both Brock and Narzan stood silent and watched the Undead trundle off. They both looked at each other, at a loss for words.

"Dat's da first time I hears 'im speak," Narzan said.

"You know, no offense to the Horde, lad," Brock said, "but I still can't understand why you have those guys on your side."

"Me neithah," Narzan said, "Dey all smell funnay ta' me."

"Now _that_ I can agree on," Brock chuckled, draining the rest of the beer in his mug.

* * *

Caggar rummaged through some old maps left behind from the League's evacuation of the first dig. Hidden inside of an old, worn down tent, the maps were the only means of navigating within the depths of Uldaman for the ten adventurers. The maps were dusty and worn down, and were written in the tongue of Dwarves of all things. Nevertheless, Caggar was an expert of deciphering different languages; even those he had never heard or read before. The good thing was that, should he feel that he couldn't understand a word or two, he could ask the Dwarf, Brock, for a translation.

From what Caggar could see, the map was based upon what the members of the League explored and dug through before sending in their expedition into the deep tunnels. According to the map, several hallways spread out from the main entrance into the city, and from there they circled about until they came together to form a complete circle, near the area hastily marked "Dig 2 site." Whether the note was made before or after the discovery of Troggs deep inside of the Titan city was to be seen.

"Wise Bladehoof, I wish to converse with you."

Caggar recognized his native tongue of Taurahae instantly. He spoke without looking away from the map. "What knowledge do you seek, young Tauren?"

Selvan Ashenfur walked up, running her fingers through the leaves in her hair in her nervousness. "I fear this place," she said, "A stench of death reeks through here. The absence of life chokes me, and what life I can sense is perverted and transformed out of darkness. I cannot connect to the Earthmother in this place."

"Strange," Caggar said as he ran a stubby finger across the map, "It would appear that my connection hasn't wavered since we left. I suppose it is because of your Druid powers. It is odd that the Elf hasn't felt it yet."

"Either he has and does not speak of it," Selvan said, "or the Alliance has poisoned my powers."

"Come now," Caggar said, straightening up and looking into Selvan's deep green eyes, "You are of the Cenarion Circle. How could you say such words, especially since these people are to be our allies?"

"Forgive me," Selvan said, "I have been…paranoid of late. The Forsaken, Necrus, speaks very poorly of these people. His words must have rubbed off on me."

"Pay no attention to that pile of bones," Caggar said. He looked up as he heard Necrus' voice in the distance. The Forsaken was chiding the Dwarf, Brock, and the Troll assassin, Nerzan. The two of them were leaning against a table, sharing a drink of something from within a barrel that sat next to them.

"I think I shall join those two," Caggar said, noting their two companions, "Perhaps a drink can clear my mind enough for me to figure out the puzzles that lay ahead of us."

Selvan bowed her head in respect as the Shaman made his way out from beneath the ruined tarp of a tent. As she watched Caggar go, she turned in the direction of their leader, Gamar Rookfist. Perhaps he could enlighten her about their current situation. Any talk that could distract her mind from the closeness of this place was good talk.

As she left, she didn't notice the pair of empty eyes that looked between her and the tent she left behind.

* * *

Gamar stared at the long hallway that led into the Titan City. The fate of hundreds, perhaps the fate of the world, lay just beyond the rocks that lined the walls, floors, and ceilings of the tremendous cave. Just beyond a dusty atmosphere, he could see the checkerboard floor that was the lobby to the great city of Uldaman.

Somehow, he knew he wasn't going to like this.

Gamar remembered when Thrall himself addressed him for this mission. Thrall had chosen Gamar of all others because of his early accomplishments back in Ragefire Chasm. Deep beneath the city of Orgrimmar, a network of volcanic caves and old passageways had led to the opening of an ancient Titan vault, exploited for the use of the infamous Shadow Council in an attempt to destroy Orgrimmar and restore the original "order" that was the first Horde. Gamar had led the first team, and proved himself victorious overall. It was the first time that adventurers were chosen specifically to deal with high-level threats in such a manner, which was why it was recommended to the Alliance for this very purpose. Gamar received many a reward when he and the others emerged in victory; amongst those honors was the respect of a mighty leader.

Though Gamar appreciated such attention, he preferred it if he was left alone. Gamar wasn't exactly a hero in his mind's eye; the only reason why he even went into Ragefire Chasm in the first place was because he needed the money and a means to break away from the boundaries that life presented him. Ragefire was sort of a testing ground for him…though he didn't know what the test was, or whether or not he passed it.

_Perhaps I should have followed my mother's advice and become a Shaman_, Gamar said to himself, _At least then I would have some kind of guidance for help…_

"You know, I always found caves kind of foreboding."

Gamar spun about. When he saw the man standing before him, he tensed up a little, but steadily lowered his tenseness as he remembered that they were supposed to be allies in this fight.

"What do you want, Human?" Gamar asked.

"I came to see a bit of what we are up against," Tyrian said, "and also to converse with you…if you don't mind, that is."

Gamar snorted. He turned back to the hall and sat himself down on the rock and dirt floor. "Since you are here, I don't see why not," the Orc warrior said, "I'm not much into conversation."

Tyrian nodded. He stared out towards the dark hallway in the same direction that Gamar was staring. He seemed tense, just like the Orc. Whether it was because of their racial past or because of something else, Gamar couldn't tell. It was hard to read the emotions of the warriors known as Paladins.

Finally, Tyrian spoke up. "Do you…remember me at all?"

Gamar's ears and eyebrows both rose in confusion. "What do you mean, Human?" the Orc asked, "Do you suggest we met sometime in battle?"

"Not in battle," Tyrian said, "but battle did come as a result of the two of us."

Gamar was even more confused now. "Don't jest with me, Human," he said gruffly.

"So you don't remember that time in our youth?" Tyrian said, "During the Second War…I think you were a young toddler like myself when we met…Kara was with us, remember?"

Gamar's confusion was starting to ebb away. Come to think of it, Gamar did remember something of his childhood that involved humans. Two human children, in fact. Their significance in his life and who those two were, he couldn't recall.

Gamar was about to ask Tyrian a bit more about how he knew him, when he heard heavy footsteps approach. It was the Tauren woman, Selvan. She approached the two of them with an air of caution about her body. Her nervousness was like a mist that emanated from her very fur. It was obvious that she didn't like it here.

"Good day to you, Human," Selvan said, "Good day, Gamar Rookfist."

"What is the matter, Ashenfur?" Gamar asked.

"Nothing is wrong…as far as I know," the Tauren female said, "I was just curious as to what our plan is going to be. I feel that the sooner we get done with our quest, the better."

"You aren't far from the truth about that," Tyrian said, "The Dark Irons are already two months ahead of us. We're going to have to find those discs quickly."

"I had taken a look at the map that Caggar had found," Selvan said, "I couldn't read it though…it was all in Dwarven."

"Well, it shouldn't be too hard to translate," Tyrian said, "We've got at least one good Dwarf in our company, right?"

Gamar didn't respond. He simply stared down the hall towards the checkered floor of the city. Tyrian suddenly noticed how intent the Orc's gaze was. Confused, the Paladin turned to the direction the Orc was glaring.

"What the—?!"

Tyrian had no idea what it was, but he thought he saw someone, or something, off in the distance. Whoever or whatever it was, the figure was hunchbacked and had arms that reached down to the ground. Tyrian couldn't see its face save for the gleam of what he guessed was a pair of eyes. The figure just stared at the interlopers for a while before lumbering off to the right, disappearing into the gloom.

"Troggs," Gamar said as he stood up, "I'd say at least a foot taller than a Dwarf. That thing's a lot bigger than the ones I faced."

"You've seen those things before?" Tyrian asked.

"A year or two ago," the Orc said, "It was down in Ragefire Chasm. They were about a half a head shorter than Dwarves when I first saw the damn beasts, but real nasty. I was hoping we wouldn't spot one until deeper into the city."

Tyrian wanted to know all that he could about this enemy. It was either good luck or sheer coincidence that the Orc knew about what they were going to face. Perhaps that was why he was picked to lead the Horde team.

"What were they like?" Tyrian asked, "How do they fight? What can we expect from such creatures?"

The Orc cocked an eyebrow at the Human. Tyrian felt kind of uncomfortable being stared down by someone who was supposed to be his enemy. The Orc sized Tyrian up for a few minutes before giving a reply.

"It's not what one can expect," the Orc said, "It's what you know not to expect. Troggs aren't smart, but they are as cunning as wolves. They can hide amongst the stones and camouflage themselves easily in the dirt. Their ambush tactics killed many men when my team first found them deep in Ragefire…only I and Caggar made it out alive…or at least, with our sanity intact."

Tyrian felt his blood chill. These beasts sounded a lot like the Undead Scourge, only with a more deadly advantage. To think that they were going to drive those beasts out…and in the Troggs' home territory, too.

"An old Orc proverb passes through my memory," Gamar said, "The deer should not sit idly while the wolf gathers its pack."

"I think I get what you mean," Tyrian said, "Let's get the others…I want us to get a plan of action set up before we move on."

* * *

Brock peered through the copy of the map, reading through the words easily and examining the drawings and the etchings that identified the different landmarks of the simple map. As he did, he stroked his mustache, piecing together what he could find.

"Well, I've got to admire yer translating skills, Bladehoof," Brock said as he examined the map, "You translated it all into almost perfect Common. Ye must have been quite a scholar when ye was but a little lad, eh?"

"Something like that," Caggar said, a small grin forming on his wide snout. Gamar snorted.

"Well," Brock said to the small crowd gathered around, "From what the map says, and what's rather obvious right from the start, we're in Dig One. Most of the work done by everyone other than the main expedition was done here in this spot. However, there's something I can't seem to get…"

"What seems to be the problem?" Kara asked.

"Well," Brock said as he fiddled with his beard, "From what I can reckon, this isn't a full map. Though it's kind of obvious at the start, the map itself looks as if it was shabbily made, as if someone had traced a piece of the original. In other words, we got ourselves a copy. I'm guessin' that when that Gnome lad, Oggy, made a mad ditch over to the camp, he must have brought only a piece of the original map."

"That means that there's more pieces inside," Tyrian speculated.

"Correct, lad," Brock said, "Either that, or they are destroyed. Either way, unless we can find the other pieces we don't really know what's out there, which means all we need is a wrong turn or some dumb mishap and the lot of us will get lost, probably for good! Since we only have a month's deadline ahead of us, I'm guessin' that the best thing we can do is explore what we can without going too far out. There is some kind of a chance that we could probably find a piece of the map somewhere and use it to get along, but until then we're stuck with this copy. Now, any ideas?"

The ten individuals sat back, pondering what the group was going to do. Both Alliance and Horde members had no clue how to take on this puzzle. In the end, most of them were stumped.

"Perhaps if we were to enter the main lobby, the place that's called the Hall of the Keepers, and attempt to split up from there."

Nobody had ever heard Garadin speak before. Most of them were kind of surprised that the Mage had kept quite a silence. However, not all of them were so shocked as to not notice the obvious flaws in Garadin's plan.

"What part about us gettin' lost don't you understand, lad?" Brock asked, "We'll never know where the hell those tunnels will lead us once we get inside!"

"No," Garadin said, "but whoever wrote this map did." He pointed a finger at the parchment. "From what I could gather, the map has a pretty clear depiction about where we should go. It has Dig Two scribbled up towards the end of this circle, so why don't we just go in that direction? It should solve our problems of getting lost; once we find the second dig, we could find survivors and maybe the rest of the map."

"That notion is correct, Mage," Caggar said as he approached the map table, "However, I'd like to point out the rest of the map we have. What of this shaft that leads to this dead-end? According to what I was told, the Gnome and his companions holed out in a single camp that they used as a base of operations that they would come to before the attacks. What if, per say, the reason why Dig Two was closed off was because the dead-end ensured that those inside were trapped, and that those outside couldn't reach safety?"

The Tauren's logic was undeniable. It put all the other teammates back to thinking. How were they to know that travelling down the different tunnels of Uldaman was safe? Some of the group, most notably Selvan, were more nervous than others about the prospect of getting lost forever in the depths of Uldaman. What were they to do?

"Well, I for one am not going to just sit here," Tyrian said as he gazed over to the main entrance, "I know that, whatever the risk, the source of all our answers is in there. If we keep waiting like this, it might already be too late."

A couple of the team members, such as Nerzan and Asterian, the Elf. However, there were a couple of individuals who didn't like the plan at all.

"We shouldn't head in there recklessly," Caggar said defensively, "If we descend too deep into those tunnels, we may never return. We have to make an appropriate plan of action!"

"What plan of action is more appropriate than going in?" Tyrian asked, "If we don't, we'll be likely mauled by those Troggs. In my mind, I think it's better that we simply go in and explore while we still can."

The group argued for quite a while. It seemed that everyone had different opinions about where they were going to go. Finally, Brock raised a hand to his mouth and made a sharp whistle, causing the two Tauren and the Night Elf in their company to cover their ears from the sharp noise.

"Alright, lads," Brock said, "We aren't gettin' nowhere while we're sittin' here arguin'. Now, I think it's time we brought it down to a vote. Since both of our sides are almost even in opinion, I think it's only wise that I withdraw my vote and let the rest of you decide for yourselves. Let's just hope it won't get us killed in the end."

Each of the members of both teams gave in their vote. In the end, it was a fifty-fifty split; Caggar, Kara, Gamar, and Selvan were all against exploring off of the map, while Tyrian, Garadin, Nerzan, and Asterian were for it. In the end, only one vote remained.

"Necrus," Brock said, "What say you?"

The Forsaken was silent at first. His pale, empty eyes looked over the nine individuals staring at him from across the table. The Forsaken drew in a deep, rasping breath, his decaying skin moving about in a sickening manner as air filled in his ruined lungs, before releasing the breath and speaking.

"I believe the best call of action would be following Garadin's plan," Necrus said, "It seems to me that it is the only plausible course of action. It would be…preferable if we face the unknowns while we still can. It is better to be blind and have a sword than to see and be defenseless."

Tyrian and the others couldn't help but smile. Caggar, Gamar, and the others who wished to play it safe frowned at the Forsaken, but kept their silence.

"Alright then," Brock said as he grabbed the map and folded it up, "Now that we have that settled, we should get ready to head out."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Tyrian said, "Alliance team; pack up what you can and head to the entrance. We're done here."

* * *

Asterian was good at controlling his emotions. Almost all Night Elves had much in the way of physical and emotional training to help them guard against foul magics. However, while his face did not show it, he could not help but feel as nervous as the Tauren Druid was when he felt his connection with the life above diminishing in the depths of the city. Whatever life that existed in the darkness below was dark and dim, and the city gave off a strange feeling of foreboding and emptiness.

The Night Elf wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew that there was definitely something wrong.

The good thing about being a Feral Druid was that one didn't need to have a strong connection to the life above in order to use one's powers. As long as he had the aura of a druid remaining around him, he would be more than capable of surviving whatever trials awaited them. However, he knew that his "battery" wasn't permanent, and that it would eventually run out if he wasn't careful. He guessed that he had only a week's worth of power or more before his reserves would end and he would have to return to the surface to replenish.

Asterian stood by the entrance and waited for the others to be done. Though he wanted to complete this quest as fast as he could, he had to agree that Caggar's plan had logic. What if they managed to get themselves lost? He didn't really want to think about it, but the whole prospect of being lost deep inside of an ancient vault covered with monsters was too foreboding to keep out of his mind. The best thing he knew he could do was just pray to Elune that they could succeed in this mission.

Asterian couldn't help but keep a close eye on the Troll, Nerzan. He was a shady character…and too friendly. Most Trolls would rather carve off their tusks than talk to an Alliance member, and yet he was already making friends with the Dwarf, Brock. There was something up. Either the Troll was planning something, or he wasn't right in the head.

Asterian felt a rather strange presence nearby. He knew right away to recognize the ebbing life force of Necrus. To Asterian, the Forsaken were an affront to nature. When a life ends, the soul bound to the world should remain in peace in the next world. However, that did not stop the Lich King from accomplishing his dark and vile deeds. Even though the Forsaken had their free will returned, perhaps that alone was a darker existence than even being a part of the Scourge.

"What do you want, Necrus?" Asterian asked as he waited patiently for the others.

"You shouldn't use that tone of voice with me, Druid," the Undead whispered, "It isn't wise to upset a Forsaken."

"The good thing is that it's hard to upset something without emotion," Asterian said, "Speak and be gone. I do not have time for foolish talk."

"You do not have any time, Elf," the Forsaken whispered, "None of us do. Uldaman is a dangerous place, and it is dark and dank deep inside…away from the life above."

"I do not need to listen to the obvious," Asterian said.

"Oh, I think you do," Necrus said, "It is obvious that both you and the Tauren girl have lost connection with your powers above…it's also obvious that you are very frightened about it. You may be guarding your emotions well, Night Elf, but we of the Horde can smell even the smallest bit of fear…"

Asterian froze. Necrus knew of his apparent weakness.

"What is it that you want?" the Night Elf said glumly.

"A small alliance," Necrus said, "Since we both know you are low on magic, I'll do you a favor. I'll keep an eye on your back; make sure that you…stay alive for as long as possible. In return, you do me a favor. Deal?"

The Night Elf sighed. Making deals with anyone on the Horde was considered treason. Even if both of them were on the same side in all of this, it was still never a good idea to accept a deal when you don't know the terms of the opposite end. Nevertheless, the Night Elf didn't exactly have any choice…the others would likely ridicule him or leave him and Selvan behind, and he wanted to use his powers as much as he was able. The chance for him to hold off until later would have been worth it.

"Fine," he said, "Just don't stab my back while I'm not looking."

Necrus grinned as Asterian shook his grotesque hand. "Now why would I want to do that?"

* * *

The two teams began to slowly make their way down the long hallway towards the Hall of the Keepers. Gamar was cautious as they went inside. With his axe, the Rook, at the ready, he kept a very close eye on the end of the tunnel, almost daring anyone to get close.

"Stay close, and pray to whatever Gods that command your life," Gamar said aloud, "Once we get inside, there's no going back out…those damn Troggs won't let us leave once the blood's spilt."

"That's the good thing about Orcs," Brock said aloud, "They're always optimistic about things."

"Dwarve's is just as bad, mon," Nerzan said, "Dey's only fun when drunk."

"Point taken, lad," Brock said.

With Gamar and Tyrian in the lead, and Nerzan, Brock, and Thor in the back, the group continued their journey downwards. By now, the dust was starting to clear up, and the haze revealed perfectly polished checkerboard tiles, their surface only blemished by piles of dust and sand. Stone walls, carved into the mountainside, stood as tall as at least two giants inside of the tremendous hall. The silence that met them as they went inside was only broken by the occasional sound of a bat's cry echoing through the caverns, or by the bellow of some beast hiding deep within the halls. The ten adventurers kept their weapons up. Garadin and Necrus both began to charge their magic as their staff ends began to glow with red or green light respectively.

"It's quiet in here," Kara said as she looked about, "Too quiet."

"It is just the calm before the storm, lass," Caggar said as he silently prayed to the Elements, "I fear that the Troggs know of our presence; otherwise, we'd hear them making quite a bit of noise."

"How so?" Asterian asked as he prepared some of his morphing spells.

"Troggs love to fight amongst themselves," Gamar said, "When they aren't eating the remains of their victims, they are usually eating each other, damn cannibals."

"That's just gross…" Tyrian said.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Both Horde and Alliance teams just stood in the middle of the entrance hall, staring at both ends as they waited for whatever ambush was being expected for them. They stood there for at least ten minutes as they waited for the silence to break.

"I got a bad feelin' 'bout this, lads," Brock said.

The silence continued.

"We should get moving," Tyrian said, "I say we move east; to the left."

Since no one objected, the group went to the east. They followed the hall until they reached a corner. Gamar pointed to Nerzan and had the Troll go first. Hugging the wall and becoming virtually invisible, Nerzan silently moved with all the stealth of a hungry predator. Turning the corner, he looked around to check to see if the coast was clear before vanishing from sight.

He was only gone for a few minutes before he returned, moving quickly to the others. He wasn't moving quite as stealthfully as before, which was probably a good sign.

"Da coast is clear," Nerzan said, "Dere' be's a big chambah ovah 'der. It look safe."

"That's what I was afraid of," Caggar said, bringing his staff into a defensive position.

"Follow me," Gamar said, "We should keep moving. Everyone, stay on guard. Swords in front, casters in the middle. Make sure the healers are kept in the middle as well; if they go, then we go."

The group turned the corner and moved deeper into the city. Past the first corner, they saw the huge chamber that made up the center of the Hall of the Keepers. With a ceiling at least twice as high as the main halls, and with a small crack of light coming from the roof, the effect the dust cloud had made it seem like the roof opened up to the top of the mountain.

All that seemed out of place in the room were the large boulder-sized stones…

The silence could make one hear a pin drop. It didn't stop the intruders from approaching the large chamber. The ten adventurers were making their way towards the center of the room, when suddenly…

Gamar, Brock, Caggar, and Tyrian were the first to break the initial shock of the sudden transformation that the stones took. Each of the beasts had three-toed feet, pebbly and grotesque skin, with lanky arms that ended in four-fingered claws. Hair that took the appearance of thin mineral-like pieces of rock grew from the arms and down the back and necks of the creatures. Their heads were monstrous, with wide lips that revealed a mouth full of sharp teeth. Hair covered their heads in the form of a scraggly beard and a crop of hair atop their heads. Their eyes, though dim, gave off a cunning that seemed to defy the lack of intelligence made on their faces.

The four adventurers were quick to defend the group. Each attacked and counter-attacked the onslaught of at least a hundred Troggs with their weapons. Gamar felled many of the beasts with The Rook, slicing it about and even leaping upon many of the creatures before completely immobilizing them with a blow to their powerful backs. Tyrian used his mighty sword, combining his attacks with prayers to the light that caused his blade to glow with a burning frenzy. Brock used the butt-end of his gun to knock aside one Trogg full in the chin before blowing it clear to the other side of Hell with his gun, while Thor barreled through the beasts like a rampaging monster, clawing them and biting whenever he could. Caggar's approach was more delicate; knocking aside attackers with his staff before suddenly launching bolts of lighting from the tips of his fingers.

The others were quick to follow up on their defense. Flaming infernos cascaded from all about as Garadin launched bolts of fire from his staff. Two Voidwalkers suddenly appeared from the ground at their feet and went into the fray alongside Brock's pet bear, followed closely by powerful destructive blasts from Necrus's warlock hexes. Nerzan's blades flashed about as he cut through the monstrous Trogg invasion force, and Asterian suddenly transformed himself into a panther; striking at the Troggs as best as he could while keeping himself between the enemies and the two healers, who were busy giving aid as best as they could to the others.

"Damn it, this is gettin' nowhere!" Brock shouted, "We need to get out of 'ere!"

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Dwarf," Gamar shouted, "Caggar! Let's say we wrap this up, aye?!"

The Tauren shaman nodded his head. Knocking aside a Trogg that was attempting to gnaw at his staff, the Tauren raised his weapon into the air and struck it into the ground. He closed his eyes, focusing as much energy as he could in the short amount of time they had; praying that the elements would accept his pleas.

"Storm, Earth, and Fire…heed my call!"

When the Tauren's eyes opened again, they glowed. His staff suddenly shook as energy erupted from their surroundings. Troggs on all sides began to scurry in fear as rocks cascaded from the exposed roof of the city, as fire began to flow from the cracks in the tile floors, and as lightning bounded and cascaded from Caggar's staff, electrocuting all that was still near.

As suddenly as it came, however, the attack suddenly died. The Shaman looked about in confusion as he suddenly realized that his connection with the elements were waning.

"We had best withdraw," the Shaman said.

Wordlessly, the adventurers complied. At first, they tried to go back the way they came, but discovered that Troggs had started to pour out of a fissure near the entrance; they were trapped. There was no choice but to go forward; deeper into the Titan city.

With Tyrian in the lead and Gamar trailing behind, the ten adventurers made their way through the tremendous Hall of the Keepers. The Troggs that were beat were starting to get up, clutching at their wounds and howling when some found that they lost their limbs. Garadin made a face when he saw one Trogg get up, grab the dismembered arm of one of his comrades, and swallow it whole. The Trogg suddenly appeared rejuvenated, and began to renew the chase.

"These guys just don't die, do they?" Garadin asked.

"Does it matter in the grand scheme of things?" Necrus asked in his dark voice.

There were fewer Troggs as they came closer to a second set of hallways. As they ran, Brock, Thor, and Nerzan suddenly got ahead of the others, taking out any Troggs between them and the hallway to the right.

"What the hell are you doing?!?" Asterian shouted.

"What's it look like we're doin'?" Brock shouted back, "We're clearin' a path for you! Come on, now! Hurry up!"

"For 'da Horde!" Nerzan shouted as he plunged his daggers inside of a Trogg's neck, "Hurry up, mons! We needin' ta hurray!"

The other adventurers attempted to catch up. Troggs attacked on all sides, proving it difficult to even remotely get close. Gamar quickly wiped Trogg blood off of one end of his axe before hacking viciously at another Trogg, their bodies quickly piling up around the bloodthirsty Orc.

"Got to…control…my…rage..." the Orc said.

Kara suddenly noticed Gamar's sudden increase in attack power. She turned to Caggar, who was busy dealing with a Trogg that had promptly decided to plant itself on his staff.

"Caggar! Gamar's going into a blood rage!" she shouted.

The Tauren Shaman gazed at the Orc. He could see that there were no lies in Kara's words. Gamar suddenly began frantically attacking Troggs with all his might, his axe flashing silver and red as he cut through each and every Trogg that tried to swarm over him.

"We must act quickly to get him out of here," the Shaman said, "We need to find a safe place, and quickly!"

By now, Nerzan and Brock had managed to disappear behind a corner in the hall. By the sounds of gunshots and bear growls ahead, it was obvious that there were more Troggs. Tyrian was the first to start running in their direction, making sure that all the Troggs in their way were dealt with before continuing.

"Come on!" he shouted, "Those two need our help! For the Ligh-AAH!!"

Tyrian was suddenly knocked backwards as a huge fist came out from in the ground. The others immediately came to his side, making sure that none of the Troggs took advantage of his knockback. Surprisingly, the Troggs stayed well away, as if well aware that the danger did not just focus on the adventurers.

The arm that the fist was connected to bent down and began to push on the ground. A second arm shot out after its brother, pushing up as a huge creature suddenly appeared from its resting place beneath the floor. The mighty Trogg that crawled out of its hole towered over all the others, its mouth open wide to reveal row after row of sharp, jagged teeth.

The beast was at least twice as big as any Dwarf. Unlike the other Troggs, who were brown and black in color, this one was light blue with flecks of brownish stone covering its body. Its hair was pure white, covered in minerals and revealing that this creature was at a very old age. Its stubby toes revealed long, serrated nails, and its claws were curved and pointed inwards towards its titanic fist.

The monstrous Trogg stared at the eight intruders with its stupid, yet cunning, black eyes. It breathed heavily, its breath coming out in bursts of dust and grime as it just stood there, blocking the path between them and their two comrades. By now, the gunshots had stopped. Tyrian wondered whether this meant that their two friends abandoned them…or if they were killed already.

"Me Revelosh," the beast growled, "You bad…me kill you…"

"So, this thing can talk?" Asterian queried.

"I'm surprised it could even have the brainpower to do such a thing," Necrus said.

"Me Revelosh," the beast growled again, "You bad…me kill you…"

"Likes to make a point, doesn't he?" Garadin said.

The initial shock of the creature's brainpower was erased when they heard a roar coming from behind them. Turning around, the party suddenly ducked when a red-eyed, enraged Orc suddenly rushed up and leapt with amazing speed and strength, completely flying over the adventurers and raising his mighty axe into the air.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" Gamar roared as he brought the axe down.

Revelosh, if that's what the creature's name was, raised what looked like a metal shaft in his hands and deflected the blow. Gamar was suddenly knocked aside by the beast's powerful arms, flying away until he crashed into the eastern wall. The Orc suddenly went limp, though he breathed heavily and tried to move as best as he could.

"Revelosh…hungry…" the giant Trogg said.

The giant Trogg attacked first, swinging his huge arms around and attempting to claw at the adventurers. Tyrian immediately faced the challenge, keeping his sword and shield between himself and the monster's claws. As he distracted the beast, the other came up around, attempting to get into position to deliver the harshest attacks possible. Kara and Selvan kept close to Tyrian, ready to heal him should the time come.

Blow after blow, the mighty Trogg found it increasingly difficult to knock the human over so that he could deliver a hefty final blow. His Judgment Armor did the trick; it's magical defenses as well as its physical ones kept the Paladin from becoming easy prey to the beast. For ever attack Revelosh made, Tyrian counter-attacked it by hacking at one of its arms or near the belly. Revelosh was just as cunning as Tyrian feared; he purposefully allowed Tyrian to hack at his arms, knowing full well that they were too tough for his sword to get to. As for his stomach, he kept that well defended, always keeping at least one arm between himself and the Paladin's blade.

"NOW!"

As soon as Tyrian made the mark, the four magic wielders made their blows. Bolts of lighting shot from Caggar's staff. Flame coursed and weaved from the hands of Garadin the Mage, and beams of green, enchanted energy were launched through the mystical body of Asterian the Feral Druid.

It wasn't until Necrus used a powerful Chaos Bolt that the beast actually began to reel backwards in pain. Tyrian took full advantage of the opening the beast made. With a forward thrust, he stabbed his blade through the creature's gut, rending it's belly as he brought his weapon into an upward slice. The creature's stony guts and organic flesh spilled out of its body, and it stared dumbly down at it's own body parts as it stood in pain.

"Revelosh…got…ouch…"

Tyrian jumped aside as the huge Trogg fell to the ground. The beast gave one last breath of despair before it closed its eyes in death. Pretty soon, the adventurers ran to Gamar's side. Selvan reached first, putting her hand over his head and placing a finger on his neck.

"He lives," Selvan said, "He's going to be out though for a while. We need to take him somewhere safe."

Garadin was about to inquire about Brock and Nerzan, but then the sound of Troggs suddenly coming in droves made him change his mind.

"Time to go," he said.

Caggar brought his staff up into a guard position as he saw the first wave of Troggs, but suddenly noticed that the Eastern Hall had a pass that led in deeper to the mountain. Light came in from the end of this pass; torchlight…

_The second Dig! I knew it was here!_ Caggar thought.

"Come, we must make haste," the Tauren said as he grabbed Gamar's body. Lifting the Orc up easily over his shoulder, he went down the hall towards the torchlight.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?!?" Tyrian shouted, "We don't know what's down there!"

"We certainly have a better chance of survival down there than we do in here," the Shaman said, "Whether it is by your dictatorship or not, I am going. Remember…I am not under your command, human."

Tyrian was about to retort, but the sound of the Troggs getting closer kept him from thinking of anything. He finally growled, kicking aside a rock as he followed the Tauren.

"Come on, this way!" he shouted.

* * *

As the others left, Asterian ound that he and Necrus were the last ones to follow. The Night Elf began to make his way down the tunnel, but was suddenly stopped in his tracks by a bone-laced hand.

"Remember our deal," the Forsaken whispered.

"What are you doing?" the Night Elf asked tensely, "The Troggs are coming! We must run!"

"No, you must run," the Forsaken said, "I doubt that Troggs care much for something that does not live."

Asterian suddenly felt himself being picked up by the scruff of his neck, being carried by something of great strength. He immediately felt his strength get sapped, as if his powers were slowly being…drained…

The Night Elf felt himself get thrown a great distance by the Warlock, landing hard on the ground some 20 feet away. By now, the others were well out of sight, and the Troggs were getting close enough that they could be seen.

"_Katra zil shukil. Galtak Ered'nash!!!_" the Forsaken shouted.

Twirling his staff and then striking the ground, the Forsaken launched deadly fel energy through the rocks of the beginning of the tunnel. Asterian could only watch as, suddenly, the walls of the tunnel began to cave in, sealing them off from the rest of the city and providing a barrier between them and the Troggs. Asterian was astounded by the energy caused by such a spell…

_The Forsaken must have borrowed my energy to use such an attack_, Asterian said to himself, _How and why would he do such a thing?_

To be continued…

**Kerian**: Wow...it's been months since I last updated this. It's a good thing that I did too...otherwise I'd probably have to start a new Warcraft fanfic and have the same thing happen all over again...lol.

Well now, as you can see we have quite a bit of character development that was missed out in the last chapter. Nerzan the Troll is probably my favorite Horde character; I actually can make a real good Jamaican accent in real life, so trying to get his accent on paper was real easy. It's doing Scottish accents that's hard...I pretty much gave up on Brock's accent and decided to make his accent a bit in-between so that he could be easier to understand...otherwise my spellchecker would probably die of being overworked...lol.

Something's going wrong with our Druid and Shaman friends and their magic. I bet you didn't have that happen to you in the instance. All will be explained in due time; and even more will be explained about Necrus and what he's got to do with all of this. I may not play World of Warcraft myself, but even I know that a Warlock can't exactly absorb random sources of magic and use it to give his own powers a boost unless he's special...or unless he has something sinister in mind...muahahahaha!!!

Well, Brock and Nerzan are missing, we learn a bit about Gamar and Tyrian's past, and we might see a bit more about them in the future; and why Gamar got a bit of the Blood Haze. I'm hoping that I can develop these guys a bit better...I'll admit that my knowledge about Orc behavior is a bit...um...lacking. However, the next chapter is going to take a while to create, so hopefully I can fix that up. Until then, I guess it's time for my catch phrase: Me, out!

-Kerian, Dwarf Troggbane


	4. Chapter 3: Dust to Dust

**World of Warcraft**

The Siege of Uldaman

Chapter 3: Dust to Dust

* * *

Brock coughed aloud. Dust and sand choked his lungs, and he was covered from head to toe in rocks that seemed to crush him. His brain was in a foul muddle thanks to a big bump on his head, and he probably had several bruises and probably some broken bones in his body.

The thing about Dwarves is that they are used to these kind of cramped quarters. Having lived almost all their lives in mountains and caves, Dwarves are far used to cave-ins. As such, Brock didn't mind being stuck in a position that could drive any other man mad.

There was a sudden cracking and grinding of stone; a sound one would hear if a huge stone pillar was being dragged across the ground by a giant. Suddenly, a large, stony fist broke through the layer of rocks that had fallen to the ground. This fist was fallen by another, which pawed through the ground and brushed aside the stray stones, rocks, and dirt that encircled the stony creature within.

With a mighty heave, the strange, stony figure pulled out the brown mass that was lying behind it. The bear was tossed aside with a startled groan, landing on the ground gently, though enough to knock the wind out of it. As Thor lay there, licking his wounds, the stony figure clawed through the earth until he found the stubby, three-fingered hand of the friend he was seeking.

Nerzan had thought he was dead. The darkness and the suffocating feeling were maddening. He could barely hold his breath, and every breath he did try to take was filled with choking dust. It wasn't long, however, before he suddenly felt the dirt around him slowly ease off, and his hand suddenly became free. On instinct, he twitched his hand to let whoever was on the other side know that he was still alive.

He did not expect the way the rescue turned out. With an almighty heave, Nerzan was suddenly dragged out from beneath the rocks, pulled out by his hand by a big, stony fist. The Troll felt himself land with a thud; butt first, upon the stony ground. The Troll, exhausted, fell backwards and almost drifted into unconsciousness.

A growl at his feet indicated he wasn't alone in his exhausted state. Opening an eye, he spotted Thor, licking a torn forelimb off to his right. He also saw the stony figure suddenly crack into pieces from behind the bear's big hindquarters, out of sight as the stone fell off in crumbling pieces. Nerzan's eyebrows raised as he saw a recognizable crop of long, brown hair from underneath some of the stone.

"Brock?" the Troll asked in a daze, "Is 'dat choo, mon?"

"If you look at me while I'm nakey, Troll, I'll poke both yer eyes out and feed your tusks to mah bear!"

The Troll took the hint and looked aside. As the naked Dwarf put his clothes back on from his resulted transformation, Nerzan could not help but turn a darker shade of blue. He kept his eyes closed for a little bit until he heard the zipping sound of a pair of jeans, and decided to look up.

Brock had just finished putting his vest on, shaking off the dust on his clothes as he did. He looked rather rejuvenated somehow, as if he had recently been healed by a priest's spell or by some other foreign magic. Grabbing a small cask that seemed to be filled with a bubbling liquid, he approached his big grizzly bear and grabbed his paw. The bear growled at first, but stayed still as Brock poured the liquid on the wound, rubbing it gently before adding a leather strap around the paw. The bear licked Brock's cheek in thanks before arising weakly to his feet.

"Wat just happen, mon?" Nerzan asked in confusion.

"Looks like a cave in," Brock stated, "Don't know 'ow it happened. Last thing I remember was that roar, and then we got knocked out…how're you feelin'?"

"Mah head feels like I drunk ten barrels o' Ogah Brew," the Troll said, rubbing the back of his head.

Brock nodded in agreement. Looking up at the wall of rock that had formed on the farther side of the chamber, he noted that the whole roof had collapsed, causing the stone to land in a specific alignment that seemed to block a specific area of the city. Brock guessed it must have led towards the other entrance.

_Strange_, he thought. _How could something like that just collapse? The ceiling was perfectly fine when I last looked at it._

"We'd better look around and find the others," Brock said.

"Can't I just sit 'ere a li'll longah?" Nerzan asked.

Thor growled. One look from the mad bear's eyes changed Nerzan's mind.

"Nevah mind. We go."

Brock smiled. The Troll was a good person; even he could sense that. The two companions and the mighty bear shuffled their way through the cracked halls of Uldaman back the way they came, weapons out and prepared for anything.

As they did, they did not notice a dark, shadowy figure move off in the other direction.

* * *

High in the skies above Uldaman, two black monsters hovered in the air. The mountain passes that were once a part of the great Redridge Mountains were covered in the searing light of the sun, not far below them. The creatures circled about, just about a mile from the main camp of Uldaman, gazing down upon the crags and rocks below.

Smog looked down with a proud smile at the landscape. In a little under a month, they had made it. The Badlands were legendary for being unforgiving and deadly, and they were far enough away from the Searing Gorge and the rest of the land surrounding Blackrock Spire that the Orcs and their Dragon allies had to circle around in order to not be seen by Dark Iron Dwarf forces. Of course, Smog and his cronies decided to go off and do a little mischief while they were moving. He sighed in the satisfaction that there were to be more widows and orphans amongst the ranks of the Alliance after the six of them managed to pass one of their camps.

"The city's only a few minutes away," one of the Orcs shouted out.

"We'll land nearby for now," Smog shouted back, "Scumnose and Ashwing would be there by now. If they don't get back, it means they've found a way inside that the Dwarves don't know about. From here, we scout towards the Dark Iron entrance."

"Do you honestly think that the stupidity of Scumnose won't get in the way of the operation?"

The hissing voice of Smog's drake, Doomscale, could be heard easily even in the wind. Smog simply growled at the young dragon.

"You just do your job," he said, "We'll do ours. Now, dive! We'll wait an hour before we start looking; make sure we don't have any Dark Irons watchin' out for us. If anybody sees you…stick an arrow in 'is gob or bake him alive. I don't care which."

As silent as wraiths, the two black dragons tucked their orange wings back and dove. It took all of Smog's upper body strength to keep a hold of Doomscale's shadow. The mighty beast kept his diving posture for a few seconds until the ground was only 50 feet away before extending his wings and pulling sharply out of the dive. His partner, Rexclaw, did the same, barely scratching his mighty talons upon the surface of the mountain before climbing a bit to keep his distance from the sharp rocks.

The Black Dragons were coming…

* * *

Brock and Nerzan shuffled through the rubble. From what they could see, the cave-in only affected a specific area in the city. It was obviously placed on purpose; scorch marks on some of the roof tiles that fell indicated powerful fire magic; perhaps warlock magic; that destroyed it.

"I guess that Necrus must have torched it as they were escaping," Brock observed.

"Da' Necrus don' look like 'e's a kind one," Nerzan said, "He mit' 'ave trapped 'dem insaide."

Thor took a quick sniff at the rocks and gave a bear's equivalent of a whine. Brock poked at one of the rocks before picking it up and then tossing it back in with the rest of the rubble.

"I think that they're all trapped in there regardless of what 'appened," Brock said, "Come on, now…let's get going. The sooner we find our way around this place, the sooner we can get to our friends."

Nerzan nodded in agreement. The three of them began to make their way back the way they came. Every step that they made echoed on the stone, and the dust and sand shuffled whenever they moved across. Echoes throughout the ancient city sounded like whispers in the dark. As the two of them passed the spot where they were originally buried in rubble, they began to continue down the path until they reached a crossroads. By majority vote (Nerzan outvoted by Brock and Thor), the three of them went right and went deeper and deeper into the caverns.

The long and dark hallways were silent. Only whispered echoes of some unseen force seemed to break whatever silence that existed in the tunnels. The occasional lit torch kept the path from becoming completely pitch black, though the three would likely be fine even if they were in the dark. Nerzan, being a Troll, had a sense of smell that could replace his eyes if need be. Brock was a dwarf, and as such they were home in the cramped quarters of the mines and the depths of rock. Thor was a bear…they were equipped with the night vision that all predators were granted.

Suddenly, Nerzan stopped and began to sniff the air. Brock and Thor stopped as well and got out of the way. As the Troll continued his sniffing the air, he beckoned Brock forward and they both crouched down low.

"Ah smell death, I t'ink," the Troll said.

"Someone must 'ave come through 'ere," Brock said, "Do you think it was one of ours?"

"I dunno," Nerzan replied, "But 'dis I do…don' looken bahind us naow, but we is bein' followed. Maybe Necrus, but I can' say fah sure. Da' smell is comin' forwahd, no' back. I' maight be…"

The two of them went silent. There was something nearby alright; like the sound of breathing. Thor visibly tensed, but didn't react otherwise. Brock patted a shoulder on his bear before standing back up, followed swiftly by Nerzan.

"Let's get out of 'ere," the Dwarf whispered, "If we've got Trogs followin' us, I don't want to get ambushed from behind."

"Da' feelin's mootual," Nerzan replied.

The two of them continued down the tunnel, with Thor following close behind. It didn't take long before the scent of decay reached Brock's nostrils as well. The deeper they went in, the stronger the smell. It took a while before they found the source…

He was laying there, on his back. His body was originally clothed in the dress of nobility, though it was long frayed and tattered. The insignia of a Paladin of the Holy Order was still displayed proudly on his chest armor, though the rest of his armor had been scattered or tossed about. He was dead…at least for a few months, judging by the smell and the state of his body.

"This is odd," Brock said as he knelt down beside the corpse.

"No kiddin," Nerzan said, "What's a Paladin doin' in da' middle of Uldamahn? I t'ought we was da' only ones."

"He must have been a part of an earlier expedition," Brock said, "but what's odd is his current condition. I mean…look at the lad! It doesn't even look like the Troggs touched 'im, save for 'is armor!"

Thor took a sniff of the Paladin and backed away slowly, growling as he did. Brock took that as a bad sign. Thor never backed away from a challenge unless he knew for a fact that there's something very dangerous nearby. Brock looked at the corpse to see what the cause of the frightened animal could be, when he suddenly noticed…

"Hey, the lad's wearin' a necklace," he said.

Nerzan examined the corpse. Sure enough, a necklace with multicolored stones and a beautiful gem pendant was draped around the man's neck. The Troll took one look at the object and then suddenly backed away in a huff, making signs with his hands and speaking in his native voodoo tongue.

"What, lad? What is it?"

"Bad ju-ju," the Troll said, "Da stones is cursed. No touch, if ya valoo your laife."

"Oh, ah value it," Brock said as he gave the corpse a wide berth, "Come on, lad. Let's get goin'. The sooner we get out of here, the better."

The two explorers and the bear continued their descent into the darkness of the cavern. They followed the small torch lights of the dark tunnel deeper and deeper into the ancient and forgotten city. The remains of the paladin were left far behind, and were soon forgotten by the two explorers.

Nevertheless, the paladin's remains weren't alone. Something in the dark disturbed its rest as a black hand in the darkness reached down and yanked the necklace from his neck. His skull quickly became dislodged, and what was left of the skin binding it together came loose and ripped apart. The decayed head of the paladin slipped off and rolled on the floor. When it finally came to a stop, a black boot came down and crushed it.

The owner of said boot quickly put the cursed necklace into a pouch on his side, and continued journeying deeper into the caverns.

* * *

The sound of the explosion, followed by the avalanche of rock, could be heard for miles. The digging team outside watched in horror as a big dust cloud suddenly rose up into the skies of the Badlands. Prospector Darian watched as the cloud of dust began to settle upon the mountain roof just above where he calculated the second dig had to be.

"Aw, Hell!" the dwarf shouted as he threw his prospector's hat on the ground in anger, "I'll wager mah beard that there dust cloud was our teams. Dammit!"

Oggy Stonehammer, who had been hanging around camp after learning that a new team was going in, came up to the big Dwarf. The Gnome patted his friend's leg in an attempt to comfort him, before sitting down upon a rock and looking up at the big gates.

"Too bad there's not another way in," the Gnome said, "Otherwise, we might actually be able to help them."

"I'm regrettin' not goin' in meself," the Dwarf sighed, "Hopefully, the Light'll see them through. Ah just hope nothin' else this bad happens."

* * *

In a pass just outside of camp, in a neglected spot undiscovered yet by the eyes of the Explorer's League, the cave-in had revealed a small hallway covered in rock. The same checkerboard designs that were on the floors of the grand entrance hall to Uldaman were also upon the floor here.

Unseen by neither Dwarf, Man, or Gnome, a large, black drake with big orange wings was clawing upon the rocks in an attempt to get inside. A big Orc with blackish-grey skin was standing guard outside, keeping his eyes and ears peeled while his partner continued tunneling through the rock and earth.

The Black Dragons had come.

* * *

Caggar gave a great and almighty snort, expulsing the dust in his snout. He gave an almighty cough, spewing out bits of sand and dirt that had clogged up his lungs. Grabbing his staff, he gave an almighty heave, and picked up the rock that had landed flat on his back.

With a mighty shove, the tremendous stone was tossed off and landed against a cavern wall with a crash. The sound echoed throughout the city like a gunshot. The Tauren nodded in satisfaction before looking around at his surroundings.

They were in a very large chamber. Unlike the rest of the city, it was almost completely made of rock. Indeed, had it not have been the roof over their heads, Caggar would have mistaken it for a dried riverbed like in the Thousand Needles in Kalimdor. Only small sections of the floor revealed this sanctum's former glory, as several checkerboard tiles could be seen poking slightly through the rock. Caggar examined one of them now, and noticed, to his upmost surprise, that they had all been recently dug up within the past few days.

"Ugh…wah…what happened?"

Caggar turned his head. Gamar was lying on the ground just adjacent to where he was earlier. A big bump had formed on the Orc's head where he had been struck down. Caggar quickly went over to Gamar's side. The big Tauren helped pick the greenskin up off of the ground so that he could recuperate, gently waving a big hand across the Orc's face to give him some air.

"Are you alright?" the Tauren asked.

Gamar groaned and gave the Tauren a mild glare. "Do I look alright?"

Caggar chuckled. "If I had seen you like that anywhere else, I'd say that you had been in one of the Taverns in Orgrimmar for too long. Come on…up on your feet."

Caggar lifted the Orc up, having the green-skinned warrior lean on his huge shoulders. Gamar silently thanked his Tauren friend for his help. The two of them looked around in the cavern, trying their best to get their bearings.

"Where the hell are we?" Gamar asked.

"Some kind of sub-chamber," Caggar said, "While you were out cold, I led everyone else inside. The whole tunnel collapsed behind us before I could do anything. I think we won't be going back that way for a while now."

Gamar coughed up some dust as he continued looking around. "Where are the others?"

"I didn't see them," Caggar said, "I guess we all got separated. I would hate to think that they are under there, somewhere. We'll find them…don't worry."

The two of them went deeper and deeper into the cavern, keeping to the main floor as they did. Rock ledges above would have provided good vantage points if Troggs decided to ambush them from above, so Caggar made sure he had a good eye out on everything. The spirits were very quiet in that place, and only the silent whisper of earth could be heard within the corners of his mind.

There was no wind, no breeze, not even a single indication that this room was getting a steady stream of air. Why the air was breathable still, Caggar could never know. However, he did know that there was something other than the spirit of earth whispering in his ears…he could hear something breathing, and it wasn't as big as an Orc, which meant that it couldn't be Gamar.

They were being watched…

"Gamar, get ready to defend yourself," Caggar whispered, "I fear that we are being followed."

"I see 'im," Gamar growled silently, "A little one…probably a Trogg. He may be alone, but I'm not countin' on it."

"Neither am I," Caggar said forlornly.

The two of them kept walking, though Caggar kept a tighter grip on his staff. Gamar felt around for the Rook, which had been conveniently placed back in its sheath; probably had been placed on after he was knocked out. The two of them kept going until they reached a fork in the road, and then stopped; as if wondering which way to go next.

"We must be quick," Caggar said, "If that thing runs off to get the others…"

"I'm way ahead of you," Gamar hissed, "On three…one…two…three!"

The two of them spun around with lightning speed. Caggar had called upon the power of the earth and could feel its energy charging into his staff, while Gamar, having drawn the Rook from its sheath, let out a mighty battle cry as he spun the great axe in his hand and brought it into an attacking guard.

The two of them could only stare at their attacker in disbelief.

"What in Orgrim's Hammer—"

Two strikes on the back of the head later, and the friends were unconscious once more.

* * *

"If we live through this, remind me to _thank_ that damn cow-head!"

Tyrian was in a foul mood. There were two very good reasons. First off, he had awoken to find himself having been unconscious after a powerful cave-in, which blocked the only way out of their cul-de-sac of a chamber. The fact that he had been almost pushed in by that stubborn Tauren Shaman was more than enough to sting his pride. The second reason was because a Trogg was currently trying to make a meal out of the edge of his sword.

A quick flick of the wrist later, and the Trogg's head was lopped off of its shoulders. Two more of its comrades quickly climbed up the narrow ledge right away. Tyrian was trapped, between a rock and a hard place as it were, and there was seemingly no stopping these monsters.

"Don't call us cow-heads, frail one! Caggar could mop the floor with you if he chose to lower his guard and let his temper loose!"

Selvan Ashenfur launched a blast of druid energy, completely pulverizing a wave of Troggs from the legs down with powerful tree roots. The roots wouldn't remain for long as the beasts began to gnaw at the tree. Fortunately, Asterian was there to rectify the problem.

With a wild yowl, a black panther suddenly sprung up and clawed at the nearest Trogg, ripping its throat. The wild cat wasted no time in dealing with the other monsters, cutting them to ribbons and biting at their necks; tearing out their jugular veins. Only two of the six Troggs that had been trapped managed to gnaw their way free. As the panther dispatched one, the other came up and bit it hard in the hind leg.

The panther yowled and quickly fought back. Twisting the Trogg around, the cat got beneath the beast and proceeded to slice through its underbelly with its claws, scratching and clawing away for all that it was worth. The Trogg was dead in moments, its guts falling out in a vast array of rock and flesh that crumbled into dust.

As the panther tossed the creature aside, it limped slowly over to the main group. Kara quickly administered a healing spell on the leg, relieving the creature of its wounds. The beast began to morph; its black, velvety fur retracting into its body, and its posture changing dramatically as it rose on its hind legs. Clothes quickly formed around the naked skin of the creature as it morphed dramatically from a panther into the Night Elf.

"These beasts just don't know when to quit," he growled as he pulled out a bow and pulled back on the string.

"There's too many of them," Tyrian said as he fended as many off as he could, "I can see where their line ends, but we'll be overwhelmed before we kill the last of them!"

"I thought you guys were veterans of this kind of stuff," Asterian said.

Kara chuckled sarcastically. "Believe me…the Scourge are a lot easier to deal with than these guys!"

The four of them continued their attempted defense as the monstrous Troggs came ever-closer. The beasts roared and barked in a frenzy as they ran up the slope towards the cornered intruders. The four of them held out as long as they could, but even they would need a break eventually, and the Troggs just kept coming.

It seemed like all hope was lost for the second expedition.

* * *

Brock and Nerzan came to a very large chamber. This looked as if it had been naturally carved out of the rock, completely disguising the fact that it was a part of a grand and mighty city. The only thing that proved that it still was a part of Uldaman and not some side-chamber left behind during the construction of this place was a huge door made of stone, built in against the wall.

Brock examined the big stone door, feeling the cracks and placing his ear against it and knocking a fist on the stone. Nerzan and Thor sat and watched as he continued his work. Nerzan was rather perplexed at Brock's complicated attempts at examining the door, though he had no idea why he was doing it. It was just a door, after all.

"Alright," Brock said, backing away from the door, "We've got ourselves a standard, 20' by 40' door made o' Basalt and Granite, with a thickness of about 4 feet. It's got some kind of magic barrier protectin' it, so I don' think we can open it any time soon."

"Whay woold we wanna opahn 'dis door anywahy?" Nerzan asked.

"I don' know," Brock said, "Could be a way out, could be a way to our friends. Although, come to think of it, it could also be a vault with more Troggs. I just t'ought it would be a good idea to check it out."

Brock's eyes shifted back and forth. Nerzan could tell that he wasn't telling the truth. The two of them secretly knew that they were still being followed. Thor's hair kept standing up on end occasionally, and the bear often growled at random cracks or crevasses. Nerzan's nose detected a dusty odor of chemicals and random herbs; an apothecary's basic stores.

Brock and Nerzan both looked around; pretending to be interested at a strange scale model of what could only be the rest of the Titan City. As the two of them bent low, picking at the dust near the replica's base, Brock spoke in low tones.

"How good's yer sneakin', Troll?" he whispered.

"Yah'd be speakin' tah air if I's doin' it."

"A'right, listen up and listen good. I managed to catch a glimpse of somethin' behind us; about twenty paces back inside of a crack in the wall. Be a good lad and make it look like yer' goin' to do yer business somewhere, and I'll stay with Thor. We'll be the bait."

"And ah'll be da 'untah," Nerzan said with a smile, "Dis good plan. Be back en a liddl' bit."

Nerzan got up and fumbled with his armor for a moment, making it look as if he was going to take it off. Moving away from the two, he ducked behind a crevasse and sat for a moment or two, making it look as if he was going off somewhere to take a leak. Once he felt enough time had passed, he snuck into the shadows, and let his Rogue training do its work.

Nerzan was once an expert assassin. Considered to be a role model to many rogues just starting out in the business, he could disappear in an open field and steal the clothes off of a squadron of fully armed Centaurs out in the open plains of the Barrens. In the Thousand Needles, he was called the Silent Wraith, though in his home near Mulgore he was simply called Horse Thief.

Titles didn't matter in Uldaman. Nevertheless, Nerzan proved that he earned them well.

He took to the shadows and was like an invisible ghost in the dusty, rock-filled cavern. Brock didn't even see him go by as the Troll hugged the wall and crept as silently as a snake. The Jungle Troll quickly got out a series of tools that he attached to his fingers and toes, and quickly climbed up the tunnel wall, hugging to it as he crawled silently over the ceiling of the tunnel where they came. Continuing to stay on the wall, he kept crawling up until he reached the big crack in the wall before he came to a stop.

Nerzan was often prepared for any chance he could get at knocking somebody out cold. While hanging upside-down by his toes, he reached into his pack and grabbed a long, hollow tube decorated with feathers and the voodoo colors and patterns of his tribe. Un-fastening the loading mechanism, he promptly placed a tiny, poisoned dart inside. The dart wasn't truly poisonous; only enough-so that it could knock anybody cold for about five minutes. However, it was described to be quite painful for victims.

After quietly fastening the rest of the tube together, he brought it to his lips. Waiting quietly, he patiently let the seconds tick by until he could hear his quarry. Whoever it was down there was being smart; silent and unseen, completely camouflaged in the dark. However, that person didn't count on a Troll Rogue to be hanging on the ceiling just above him.

Nerzan let himself drop a few feet. Neatly grabbing the edge of the crack with his toes, he took a deep breath and blew hard into the dart gun. With a quiet whistle much like an arrow being launched from a bow, the dart flew out of the tube and straight towards a figure wearing red robes.

Brock watched in surprise as a shield suddenly appeared inside of the tunnel. The flash of light managed to catch the Troll off guard, causing him to fall from his position and land head-first on the ground. Brock wasted no time in pulling out his gun and whistling for Thor. The two of them rushed over to the Troll, who quickly got up and pulled out a pair of very sharp daggers from inside of his armor.

"A'right! Show yer'self, ye sniveling coward!" Brock shouted as he raised his gun.

A shadowy figure emerged from inside of the crack in the rock wall. As he approached, Brock managed to get a good glimpse of a set of red robes. He gasped in shock and lowered his weapon slightly as the figure approached the small party, holding a small dart between two fingers of his left hand.

"You know, you really should be more careful with stuff like this," the Mage addressed the Troll, "Poisoned darts have a habit of turning on their owners."

"Garadin?!" Brock shouted in alarm, "What the—what the hell?! Explain yerself, now!"

Garadin casually wiped dust off of his robe and emerged completely out of the crack. His robe looked a bit banged up, as if he had just gotten out of a brawl between two Ogres and a Furbolg. He walked with a slight limp, though he didn't seem to take notice of it for the moment.

"I suggest you explain yourself first, Dwarf," the Mage said darkly, "For starters, why did you and the Troll abandon us when we needed you, and why did you sick him on me?"

"Da' Troll 'as a name," Nerzan growled.

"We t'ought ye was someone else," Brock explained, though he didn't bother lowering his gun any further, "However, that doesn't mean ye'r out of the picture. Why were ye followin' us so sneakily? Ye could have shown yerself earlier an' let us know ye've been hurt."

Garadin didn't take notice of the fact that Brock was eyeing his leg. The robe near the Mage's left leg was damp, and if it weren't for the fact that it was red to begin with, Brock would have guessed that there was a lot of blood. Though the stain looked like it was there for a while, it still explained a lot about the man's limp.

"'Ere," Nerzan said as he approached the Mage, "Let me 'elp 'choo."

Garadin backed away for a second, but after Brock made a quick gesture, he stayed still. Nerzan sheathed his blades and got out a series of bandages and herbs from his satchel. Having Garadin hold still, he lifted his robe and began applying the stuff to the big cut on his leg.

"So," Brock said, "To answer yer question, we got knocked cold before we could do anythin'. Nerzan, Thor, and I woke up and found the tunnel blocked off, which is why we ain't with the others. What about you? What's yer excuse?"

"My…'excuse,' as you would like to call it…is that I tried to make sure everyone managed to get through the tunnel safely. There was a second cave-in after Necrus made the first one—"

"Necrus did tha'?" the Troll asked, "We suspectahd it, but…damn…"

Brock nodded for the Mage to continue. Garadin hissed in pain as Nerzan added some herb poultice to his wound, and then explained further. "Necrus was left behind. Asterian was the only one who saw him do it. I made sure that he went with the others before things got worse. I began to wonder why the Night Elf was so shaken up about an Undead sacrificing himself to save us. Anyway, that was about when the second cave-in happened, and it was only thanks to my magic that I was still alive. However, I had to teleport myself back outside when I found I was stuck, and that's when I saw that I was injured."

"Why didn't ye try and ask us for help?" Brock asked, "I mean, we were right there. We knew ye was followin' us."

"I only saw you guys recently," Garadin said, "I actually thought that Nerzan had taken you prisoner…though I guess that was the wound talking. I can see now that you both were just stuck between a rock and a hard place."

"Nice pun," Nerzan muttered. He pulled tight on the bandage not too gently, causing Garadin to wince a bit more. After tying it off, he stood up and let the robe slip back down over the man's leg. "Dat' shoo'd do et. No need ta' t'ank me."

Garadin tested his leg. Wincing a little, he stood up fully and used his staff for support. Nodding his thanks to the Troll, he moved out of the crack in the wall and made his way down towards the scale-model of Uldaman.

"Interesting," he said, "This scale model must have been made a long time ago, before this place was lost to the ages. It looks like a complete map of the entire city, kind of like the map that was given to Tyrian and Gamar…and I can detect faint traces of magic in it."

"Really?" Brock said in surprise, "How so? I didn't sense anythin'."

"When you are in the Kirin Tor," Garadin explained, "you get taught this stuff to the breaking point. It seems as if there are some ley lines heading towards the door, though I can't tell what they are for. What I can tell, though, is that there is another way to get to the chamber where the rest of the group went."

"Dat' shoo'd be da' firs' place ta' go," Nerzan said.

"Logically, yes," Garadin agreed.

The three of them gazed at each other in silence, with Thor yawning in boredom behind Brock. It was the Dwarf that broke the silence.

"So, what're we all standin' around fer? We've got an expedition to finish! Which tunnel leads to them?"

Garadin pointed his staff off to the nearest tunnel entrance. "That's the way to go. If we move quickly we can…what are you doing?"

Nerzan was on all fours; his right hand holding a stick with charcoal while the other held a piece of parchment. He scribbled furiously as he gazed closely at the map in front of them.

"Need map," the Troll explained, "Don' wanna get lost inna 'ere. Too dusty."

Garadin nodded in agreement. The Human and Dwarf waited patiently as the Troll finished drawing the makeshift map. When it was done, the four of them made their way into the tunnel, travelling deeper and deeper into Uldaman.

As they continued, they didn't bother looking back. If they had, they would have seen something with clawed feet approach the makeshift map. The figure gazed between the carving on the floor and the giant stone door. Tracing the ley lines with its clawed fingers, the figure began to search for their source. When he finally stopped, his fingers poked at a small circle, which was just barely large enough for a specialized staff or rod to poke through.

The figure gazed in the direction of the party as they left. After a tense moment of indecision, the figure followed, making sure it was as slow as possible so that it wouldn't be spotted.

* * *

The Troggs had ducked behind a series of rocks in the chamber. They were waiting patiently for the intruders to prepare their last defense. The Troggs knew that they were strong, and although they themselves were stupid they knew better than to risk their lives and get killed so easily. They sat silently, speaking to each other in the grunts and barks of their language, waiting patiently until their quarry made a mistake or accidentally slipped up in their defense.

The two Druids kept watch over the expanse of ledges, scattered rocks, and cavern walls as they guarded their two friends behind them. Kara was busy administering a healing spell combined with a salve of herbs provided by Selvan to a gaping wound in Tyrian's side. What would have proved fatal was soon gone as Tyrian's flesh sealed and arteries began to seal back where they belonged. After she was done, she quickly cleaned Tyrian's skin with a piece of his torn undershirt, revealing a small slit of a scar beneath.

"That's another one to add to the old collection," Tyrian commented aloud, "Too bad you can't conjure a repairing spell for this armor."

Tyrian's Judgment armor was torn in the fabrics. The robes were cut clean through in places, with the chains in some of the armor askew. Since Tyrian was in the front line of the attack, he had the most experience with the Troggs, who proved to be a bit more inventive than they seemed.

"Who would have thought that they could use simple tools to cut armor," Kara muttered, "It's a miracle that this didn't cut deeper."

"The stone here is ancient, and resistant to all that the Earthmother has given it," Selvan said, "Your Titans knew what they were doing when they built this place. I have no doubt that they were well aware of the dangers of the Redridge Mountains before building this place."

"Regardless of back then," Asterian muttered, "I have sincere doubts that they were prepared for now. These Troggs are sapping my strength greatly."

Tyrian got up and brushed the dust off of his armor. After helping Kara up, he began to speak his thoughts, "Haven't you noticed that you've been doing a lot better here than you were back in the grand chamber?"

Asterian turned and looked quizzically at the Human, "What do you mean, Paladin?"

"Your magic has been doing better here than it did in that one fight with that Trogg, Revelosh," Tyrian explained, "I could see it right away. You both aren't as hesitant. It's almost as if you gained some kind of aura in this chamber…or…"

The Tauren Druid understood, her usually timid demeanor long gone after the conflict. "Or an aura of darkness left us once we split up," she said.

Kara suddenly realized where this was going. "Does…does this mean that one of us has been draining our magic…or blocking it somehow?"

Tyrian shrugged. "I don't know," he said, "It could be. It could also very well be just the rest of Uldaman. I noticed that this place doesn't seem quite as dark as the rest of the city. There might be a reason for that."

Asterian was about to nod in agreement, but a nearby noise caught his attention. Turning, he suddenly flinched in surprise. "Talking can come later," he shouted, "They're coming back!"

Tyrian quickly got up in front of the two girls, alongside the Feral Druid. Sure enough, the Troggs decided that waiting could come at another time. This time, they weren't just coming in waves. They were coming in full force. At least 200 of the beasts were coming in full strength; grunting, barking, and roaring as they made the charge up the ledge towards the four defenders. Tyrian couldn't help but feel a drop of sweat fall from his head as he gazed at the line of approaching beasts. There was no way he could block a full charge. Not like this…

Time seemed to slow down as the Troggs rushed forward. Asterian transformed into a Bear and began growling ferociously at the oncoming Trogg attack. Selvan began charging her powers over nature, while Tyrian began to pray to the Light, causing his sword to glow as he cast a holy spell over his blade. Kara stood aside and prepared to heal her companions when the time came near. It seemed as if the end had truly come for the Uldaman Expedition.

Suddenly, something flew out from behind a lone rock. With a great hissing sound like a snake, a powder keg landed hard in front of the rampaging Troggs. The first Troggs ran right over it, too focused on their rampage to really care, while the others stared at the object inquisitively.

The fuse on the keg quickly hit bottom. Tyrian did the only thing he could do at the time. As quick as he could, he reached out with both arms and bowled the two Druids over, bringing them behind cover. Kara, trusting Tyrian's intuition, quickly followed suit and ducked behind the rocky ledge.

The explosion echoed throughout the chamber, rippling through the halls of Uldaman and causing the very ground to shake. The smell of ash, burnt flesh, and freshly smoked gunpowder hit the nostrils of the party. The four of them waited until the last of the dust and rubble hit the ground before standing up and taking a closer look at what had happened.

The Troggs were obliterated. Those that were closest, including the foremost in the charge, were completely reduced to piles of ash and skeletal waste. The rest were laying bleeding, burnt, and dead on the ground, while the few survivors crawled off as best as they could…or, for the most physically fit, began eating upon the carcasses of the dead.

"What in the Light's name…?" Tyrian asked.

"Such power," Selvan whispered, "What magic spell could have done such a thing?"

"Not magic," Kara said, "Though any wizard who used a magic attack like that would be suspect for Warlock magic. It's gunpowder; Dwarven make, judging by the size of the blast. What's the matter? Have you ever seen something like this before?"

Selvan shook her head. Tyrian sighed as he gazed at the destruction.

"That barrel didn't pop out into the open by itself," he said. He raised his voice into a shout. "Come on, show yourself! We know you are out there…why'd you help us?"

There was no answer. Bravely, Tyrian took a step forward. As he did, there was a gunshot, and the dust near the paladin's foot shifted aside as a bullet struck like a meteor. Tyrian wisely stood still, sheathing his sword and raising his hands in surrender.

"I'm not going to argue with a Dwarf," Tyrian continued, "Come on out. We aren't going to harm you.

"By der great Bronzebeard, how'd ye know me ould' self was a Dwarf, lad?"

A dwarf wearing a horned helmet and carrying a Blunderbuss popped out of his hiding place. He approached the four of them, though his hands were keeping a tight grip on his weapon. Tyrian could see why; the Troggs had begun eying him as he approached their would-be prey.

"Any commander of the Alliance would know the shooting capabilities of Dwarves," Tyrian said proudly, "My name is Tyrian Stormbreaker. I'm one of the leaders of the second Uldaman Expedition."

"Second?" the Dwarf asked in surprise, "'Ave der others given oop on us? We're still 'ere, ain't we?"

"We were sent here to rescue you," Kara butted in, "and to also continue the Expedition from where you left off. There was no saying that you and the other survivors weren't qualified. We just thought that you were in trouble."

The Dwarf eyed them all for a moment before giving them a smile, "Aye, lass. We're in a wee bit o' a pickle, naow. Them Troggs blocked aour on'y way oot of dis 'ere cavern. Thanks to ye and yer…destractin', if'n ye don' mind me sayin' so…I jus' managed to kill mos' of dem' off with the last of aour gunpowder. Come on, lads and lassie, and join us! Our camp isn't far from 'ere."

Selvan was about to step forward, but as soon as she moved the Dwarf raised his gun at her. The Tauren stayed still and didn't move. Tyrian gazed between her and the Dwarf and quickly tried to intervene.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Yer prisoner's unbaound," the Dwarf said, "No Horde gel's gonna get awah from Eric the Swift, that Ah promise yoo!"

Selvan raised her hands in protest. "I'm not their prisoner. Tyrian, tell them I'm not. I'm a part of the Expedition."

"HAH!" Eric laughed, "So, ye arr, eh? I guessn's ye'd be agreein' with yon Horde friends, der Bull and der Orc, as well, aye? Ah bet ye didn't know we 'ad dem prisonah too!"

Tyrian knew that they were in trouble. The Dwarf believed that the Horde were being hostile. What's worse was that he also had Caggar and Gamar prisoner. Although Tyrian was still upset about the Tauren for what he had done earlier, he didn't want to lose any more good men than he needed.

"Take us to your camp," Tyrian said, "And show us your…prisoners."

Selvan looked at him as if he had just cursed at her. The Dwarf smiled.

"A'right, lad! Let's get a move-on! 'Ere, 'ave yer Elf help guard der prisonah. Don' wan' 'er to get away, eh?"

Asterian reluctantly got behind Selvan. Taking her staff, he grabbed her arms and began casting roots and vines over them. Tyrian grabbed her shoulder while Kara had the Dwarf's attention.

"We'll get you out of this soon," he whispered, "Don't worry…you won't be a prisoner for long."

"I can hardly contain my joy," Selvan said sarcastically.

With that, the Expedition was on the move again.

To be continued…

**Kerian**: Finally, I finished updating this! Phew, this fanfic's taking forever to write. Alright, so everyone's split up, at least six of the expedition team are stuck in a side-cavern in Uldaman, a strange bunch of Dwarves have taken our Horde friends captive, and the trio; Garadin, Nerzan, and Brock; along with their Bear continue going deeper into the cavern. Hmm...things are getting very strange lately in the depths of the Badlands...

Alright, so I've got some good and bad news all wrapped up together. The bad news is that I won't be updating this again for a little while; I'm going to finish updating my other fanfics first. The good news is that once I'm done updating those I'm planning on sticking to my 20-chapter goal fanfics for a while, which includes this fanfic. Huzzah! lol. Anyway, I've got some good reasons for getting back to this fanfic; most notably is that I've got great ideas for my characters soon; Tyrian, Gamar, Kara, and Brock for example. I've got lots that I want to do with them, but I don't want to do that until I finish this fic first. I just hope that it turns out okay in the end. People have commented that this is a great fic, and I don't want to disappoint.

Well, I guess that's it for now. I'll see you in the next update! Until then, me out!

-Kerian


End file.
